I do not own Trigun / Vash or Rem: they belong to the incredible Mr. Yasuhiro Nightow.

Author's Note:Parts of this tale are a 'mirrored' perspective to the time covered during the later chapters of "Vash, Vindicated." This tale includes several scenes not in the other story, but some overlap does exist.

Dedicated, with thanks, to "JasperK." Without JasperK's request that sent my mind on this particular ricochet, this story would never have happened. :)

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Third Anniversary Morning

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Year 0935 month 4 day 23

Vash eased away from his still-sleeping wife, careful to adjust the blankets so that he wouldn't make a draft in the process. He thought about kissing her, but he decided that he didn't want to risk waking her just yet.

He stretched luxuriously, like a sleepy cat, and enjoyed feeling the way that his body responded. Everything was working smoothly, and he felt more thoroughly alive than he had in centuries. There were certain advantages to being married to a doctor with Plant healing abilities.

He looked again at his wife as she slept. Thankfully, he'd not found a single black hair on her head. He would keep checking, though. She was such a giving soul; he sometimes worried that she might not be taking enough care of herself.

Shyla was a gentle and quiet girl, who had become a part of the Seeds ship village when he brought her here almost 800 years ago. It was the safest place he knew to take a young Plant girl whose human family had died. Even if her human mother hadn't suggested taking her away, he'd have been unwilling to leave her alone among small-town humans who might one day take a dim view of her differences.

He'd known Shyla loved him then. He'd mistakenly thought that she was like many other children, simply loving any adult who has been a close friend to their family. He'd expected, when he left her at the Seeds village, that she would grow busy with her own life and mostly forget him. While hoping that they would remain friends, he had expected the closeness from living as next-door neighbors would wear off.

Instead, to his surprise and eventual delight, they had gradually continued growing closer over the course of several centuries. And then, one day, when he looked into her eyes, he finally found what he had most longed to see.

He proposed, and she accepted. That was three years ago, yesterday. Three years ago today, they had married.

His affectionate glance took in her shining golden hair and her pleasantly plain face. He saw the way the blankets both revealed and concealed her otherwise slender figure with the substantial bulge in her middle around their soon-to-arrive fifth set of twins. He smiled.

Vash had always loved every living soul on No Man's Land. Yet he'd not known it was possible, until comparatively recently, to love anyone so very much as he'd come to love his wife and children.

The best part was that she loved him at least as much as he loved her. That blessing alone exceeded most of his wistful daydreams. The children all adored him, too. It was an added bonus that she was a Plant, like him. She was unlikely to die of natural causes after 50-60 years, which was a problem with all of his normal human friends.

He and his wife could continue to enjoy each other's company, perhaps for thousands of years, if she remained careful about expending Plant energy. Their children should be able to continue their legacy, long after they were gone.

He leaned over and gently kissed her face. She smiled in her sleep, and whispered his name. He could tell from her emotional echoes that she was not awake, but drifting in a dream.

He smiled again, and eased himself out from under the blankets and off the bed. He didn't want to disturb her. He liked the way she looked, even when asleep.

The morning air was cool enough on his skin to make him shiver, so he quickly pulled on some underpants, pajamas, slippers, and a bathrobe. Ah, that felt better.

He glanced at the bedside table. There lay the metal strips that he used to need to hold together parts of his scarred body. They were optional now, so he didn't wear them when in bed. Shyla wanted him to wear them whenever he left the village, as added protection in case anyone attacked him. In recent centuries, he was only targeted by criminals.

Next to the metal strips rested his deputy marshal's star. He wouldn't need that today, either. He had taken the day off from teaching at the academy, since it was his anniversary.

He wandered out of the bedroom, yawning, and glanced across the balcony. None of the children were up yet, nor was Rem. He wandered downstairs to the kitchen, and made himself a mug of hot chocolate.

Mug in hand, he sat at the table and breathed a deep sigh of satisfaction. He enjoyed the quiet. He raised his mug as if in a salute, and then drank deeply. He continued looking in the general direction of December, many hundreds of iles away.

"You were mistaken, my friend," he said softly. "I can live and enjoy a quiet life if I try. I only wish you could have lived to enjoy it with me."

He sighed again, this time more from sorrow than content. "Milly would have taken good care of you, as she eventually did for Livio after you were gone. She would have loved you with her whole heart, you know. That's the kind of girl she was."

Milly. That reminded him. He fell to speculating over possible names for the upcoming twins. They had only a month left to prepare. The nursery was ready, but name choices were being elusive.

Two more little girls would soon join their busy household. He considered naming one of them Milly. Somehow, he liked that idea. Nicholas and her other older brothers would help look after her as she grew. Young Rem and her other older sisters would help out, too.

Unfortunately, the name that wanted to come paired with Milly was Meryl. He was uncomfortable with the idea of naming one of his children after that petite firecracker, since he well remembered that Meryl had so badly wanted to be more than a friend. Even though he'd never reciprocated, unless you counted that one kissed-fist fist-bump, it still somehow felt inappropriate.

Perhaps Milly Meryl and ... drat, the pair of names he'd thought up for the other girl slipped out of his mind.

Suddenly he grinned widely. Eight hundred twenty-five years ago, when he'd traveled with Wolfwood and the insurance girls, he'd never have imagined that a day would come when his biggest concern was what to name his soon-to-be-born twin daughters.

It felt good to be so peaceful, after so many long years of strife.

He heard a step on the balcony, and looked up to see Shyla wrapped in a robe and pajamas. He smiled at her, saw her smile in return, and watched as she descended the stairs.

In her own words, Shyla had reached the late-pregnancy stage where she was "as big as a house and twice as clumsy." Her balance was thrown off by the weight she carried, and her walk was nearer to a waddle than at any other time of her life. Yet to him, she lost none of her appeal.

(Good morning, dearest.) Her affection wrapped around him, and his smile widened.

(Good morning, Mayfly.) He shared his affection with her, and felt her inner smile in response.

(You never have told me why you started calling me that.) Her amused curiosity rippled through their shared thoughts and emotions like a bubbling brook.

(You never shared the memories of how you fell in love with me, either.) That was the one anniversary gift he craved most. He'd fallen asleep last night, after they coupled, trying to decide how he should ask her for this.

She blinked, and blushed. (I ... didn't think that would interest you. I just wanted to enjoy being with you, and not fret over those days.) He felt her embarrassment, and he shared understanding.

He remembered a few mistakes and misunderstandings from those days that would redden his own face clear out to his ears... if he let himself dwell on them.

(If you will share your memories, I'll share mine,) she offered.

Uh oh. He hadn't expected that. (I'll ... keep that in mind.) Suddenly he had a better appreciation of her embarrassment, and a mild inclination to keep a few details private.

In his case, that had lasted for 769 years! He contemplated some serious editing, but realized that would be unfair. No, if he was going to share, it should be full disclosure. That's what he wanted from her, and she deserved no less.

(For you, it couldn't have been more than months,) he thought to her in mild protest. (There was no sign that you felt that way about me the prior time we met, for the exhibition match.)

(I think you started it that day, though.) He could feel that she was thinking and remembering. She had only just realized something as she shared those thoughts. (I loved you dearly then, just not in a marriage type of way.)

(I know.) He did the mental equivalent of a caress. (But how did I start it?)

(Do you remember that morning, when we exercised together?)

(Yes.)

(The way you looked at me, and kissed me, it made me feel strange. It was a good kind of strange, but I think that's what first got me barely beginning to notice you as a woman toward a man. Then when you were injured...) her emotions suddenly spiked with pain, combined with an intensity of affection that had an undercurrent of remembered fear.

(You got me through that.) He sent love and gratitude, and she surprised him with the same. She was grateful to him for surviving? He supposed that made sense. She seemed as happy with him as he was with her. Knowing that he made her happy enhanced his own happiness.

He considered briefly, and saw that wistful look on her face before she turned to begin making breakfast for the family. He knew what that look meant. She was nervous that he'd leave, and rarely return, as he'd done for several centuries prior to their marriage. Perhaps if she knew just how long and how deeply he'd wanted to be with her, mistakes and all, it would help her to relax.

(It will take me a little while to prepare. There are ... several centuries to cover. Or I could give you those memories in installments.) He began that preparation, thankful that he was able to multi-task. He need not neglect her in the present while he tended to the past. He began sorting through some of his earlier memories of his changing feelings as he awaited her response.

He felt her surprise. In fact, it went far enough beyond "surprise" to qualify as "shock." (Several… centuries?) Now her emotions felt severely confused.

Again, he gave her a mental caress, and added affection. (Sweet Mayfly, didn't you understand? That's why I spent so many years away, even after I'd faked my own death and Sheriff Central had awarded the bounty.) He paused to let her absorb that.

(You were... avoiding me?) More confusion.

(You were too young, back then. You weren't ready to marry anyone yet.) He sent affection, and reminded her how protective he was toward her. (I needed to let you be free to learn your own heart in your own time.)

(But... hadn't you found a different Plant lady that you loved, at first?) Her emotions still echoed strongly of confusion. (I felt you wanting marriage so many times over the centuries. I'm still very sorry that she was too foolish to love you as you deserve.)

(There was never anyone else.) He didn't even try to conceal his surprise at her mistake, though he realized it was probably a very natural one under the circumstances. (I stayed away, not because of anyone else. I simply didn't want anything to happen between us only because you'd figured out what I wanted.)

Shyla set aside the cooking things, and came around the table to where he sat. She put her arms around his shoulders, and he pulled her onto his lap. He could feel in her emotions that she was deeply moved as he put his arms around her and held her close.

(They were both right and wrong at the same time.)

(Who?)

(The ones who blamed me for your long absence.)

(I was never angry with you.) He focused his affection toward her, and his sincerity, as he continued preparing memories to share with her.

(I know that now. I had no idea then.) She shared more affection with him.

(I'm sorry you were hurt by my absence.) Even with the children in her belly kicking at both of them, it felt good to hold her. He could sense their pre-linguistic thoughts and emotions, which brought a smile to his face.

(It's over now, that's the most important thing.) She held onto him tightly, with tears trickling down her cheeks.

(I think I have one installment's worth of romantic memories ready, if you want it now.) He felt her reaction: immediate joy.

(I have also gathered most of my memories, of the type that you requested.)

Reaching across to share consciousness with another Plant required Plant energy... not much, but he dared not spend any at all. He had perhaps four blonde hairs left. Shyla, however, could spend that tiny amount without any risk. He opened his mind to her.

She adjusted her position slightly so that their foreheads could touch, and entered his mind with the same gentle respect and affection that she always radiated when she visited him this way.

It was the first time they had shared memories since they wed.

This time, he did not limit where he looked as her bright soul form entered his mind. She still had that very pale turquoise-blue tint to both body and hair. Her unbound hair gently drifted around her, moved by some ethereal breeze.

Shyla's soul-form was not pregnant, as her body was. After considering that for a moment, Vash understood. Their soon-to-be-born twins were not part of Shyla's soul. They each had their own.

He frankly admired all that he could see, which was everything. In soul form, there was never any clothing.

Shyla sensed what he was doing, and it made her blush both internally and externally.

He resisted the reflex that had previously caused him to cover the region of his hips with any memory package that he held. She was within her rights to look, now, if she wished.

She did wish. She looked him over as thoroughly as he had admired her. To his surprise, she seemed to like what she saw. Her approval suffused his soul with a warm glow.

Yet something about his soul also made her sad. He wrenched his gaze away from her, to nervously look down at his own soul-form for the first time. He found that, although the scars were different, there were roughly as many as had once marred his physical body. The soul-scars were about equally severe as his physical scars had been, too.

What surprised him is that he glowed with the same very pale turquoise-blue tint that she did, though he glowed slightly less brightly.

He was mildly surprised that he glowed at all, instead of being dark or disfigured in other ways than only his scars. He would have expected dark or black patches, or that he might have horns, or hooves, or rashes, or strange growths, or something … anything … that might reflect his many sins.

But none of those things were there. His soul-form only shone a little less brightly than hers did, and it showed many deep scars.

She came and touched his chest, so gently that it could qualify as a caress, where the worst of his soul-scars nearly clove his soul-form in two. (If only I could heal this, too…) she thought tenderly.

He smiled at her. It was so sweet of her to be concerned, and not disgusted.

They exchanged memory packages. Each watched, in turn, as the other held the new memories against their soul-form, and absorbed them.

She smiled and caressed him again. He returned her caress.

She withdrew as gently as she had come.

He closed his mental barriers again, and made certain that she did the same.

She pulled her face away just enough to smile at him.

He smiled also. (Happy Anniversary, Mayfly.)