Author's note: This story is quite a bit different from my earlier ones, in that it takes place before Van and Wendy meet up again. It was my original intention to write a whole series of short pieces about the years in which Van was traveling alone, but I kind of ran out of steam, and may not write the other pieces. Therefore, I'm posting this as a standalone, rather than as the first chapter of a longer work.
The story takes its title from a song from the musical Paint your Wagon. Look for Lee Marvin's version of "Wand'rin' Star."
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, setting, premise, or plot of Gun X Sword. This story is a retelling of a scene from the finale, and really, nothing is mine. I don't own the plot or dialogue (though I have taken some liberties with the wording of the dialogue). All I'm doing is trying to imagine what might have been going through Van's head as he left his team behind.
Wand'rin Star
Van awoke, startled by a distant sound. He sat up, taking note of his surroundings. He lay in a narrow bed in an attic dormitory, full of similar twin beds. Most of the beds were empty, except for the one adjacent to his. That bed was occupied by girl in her early teens, whose orange-red hair, free of its confining ribbons, splashed the color of the sunset across the white sheets.
"Hmm," he murmured. He hadn't known that Wendy was sleeping beside him, but he was not very surprised. For the last few months, she had stayed by his side so constantly that it had come to seem like her natural place. He was, he realized, not looking forward to having an empty space by his side instead of the small, stubborn companion who had occupied it for so long.
He stared for a long moment at Wendy's face, knowing it might well be his last chance to see it. Her eyes were closed, and he could not regret that; it was much, much better that she was still asleep. Were she awake, there would be no way for him to avoid the argument that he knew would result when he told her that she couldn't come with him.
It wasn't that he would have minded having her travel with him. She was pretty much the only person in the world whose company he wouldn't have minded right now. Bossy and argumentative as she might be, she had never let him down. She had cared for him when was sick, dragged him to shelter when he was injured, listened to him when he grieved, and on rare occasions, had even managed to bring a smile to his face. It was hard to imagine a better traveling companion. But their journey was done: there was no longer any reason for them travel together.
And Van knew that it was time for her to go home. A girl Wendy's age should be in school. She should grow up surrounded by people who would care for her. She should do whatever girls did with their friends at that age: try on make up, go shopping, talk about boys. (Remembering what teenage males were like, Van preferred not to think about Wendy dating boys, but he knew that that day would come, too. It was probably better for the boys' sake that he not be around to watch. Traveling with Joshua had been bad enough.)
What she should not be doing was tagging along after a broken man with no dreams, goals, or plans for the future. A year ago, Van's plan had been to find and kill the Claw, then kill himself, so that he could join Elena in death. He was pretty sure that suicide was no longer on the cards for him. That night in the abandoned town, he had discovered a reason to live: so long as he lived, Elena lived in his memory. They were together, even if he was the only alive.
But abandoning his plans for suicide left him with no clue what would come next. He had no idea where to go, what to do, or how he should live. He only knew that he did need to go. He had come to trust and respect those who had helped him fight the Claw, but he needed to get away and work things out for himself.
So he turned away from Wendy, swinging his legs off the bed. He felt something tug at his tuxedo jacket, and he looked back, surprised, to see Wendy's hand gripping the tail of his coat. His eyes narrowed in pain, and he wavered for moment. This was going to break her heart, wasn't it? Was it really necessary?
His hesitation lasted only for a second. For once, he knew with absolute certainly that he was doing the right thing. She deserved a normal life. He sighed, then reached back and gently dislodged the coattail from her grip. To his relief, she didn't wake up. She simply sighed, then relaxed her hand. Van reached back to tuck the blanket more securely around her, then left the room without another backward glance.
He headed down the stairs, then walked down the hallway, listening to the murmur of voices coming from the large dining room. Through an opening in the divider, he could see them all sitting there: Carmen, the oldtimers, Manson and his wife, Kaiji and some of his crew, and, of course, Pricilla. At the sight of Pricilla, he sighed again. He had promised her an answer, hadn't he? Well, he wasn't going to be able to give it to her now. He was no more capable of dealing with Pricilla's disappointment when he told her that he wasn't interested than he would have been able to cope with Wendy's heartache. Perhaps he was being a coward, but he couldn't help it. His own pain and confusion were too strong for him to deal with anyone else's hurt. Maybe he'd have a chance to talk to Pricilla later. If he was lucky, he wouldn't need to tell her anything. He hoped that his leaving this way would be answer enough.
He found Joshua out in the desert, working with the armor. Van felt a momentary twinge of guilt over his treatment of Joshua. He'd been pretty rough on him at times, but at the end of the day, he had to admit that Joshua hadn't deserved it. Without Joshua's technical genius, Dann would be completely beyond repair, Van would be dead, and the Claw would have conquered the world. He stopped to talk with him for a few minutes, and found that he owed him even more than he knew: Joshua had already linked Dann up to a new satellite. That was one less thing that he'd have to worry about. He would have to go up with Dann the first time, since the satellite was voice-activated, but after that, Dann should be just fine.
Joshua's plan to recover Ray's body surprised Van, but on thinking about it, he could certainly sympathize. There were things one owed to the beloved dead: he understood that better than most. And Ray deserved better than to rot at the bottom of the ocean. He smiled a little at the knowledge that Wendy's waitress friend would accompanying Joshua: was there something going on there? He sure hadn't seen that coming. But Joshua deserved to be happy, and what's-her-name seemed like a sensible girl. A tiny voice at the back of Van's mind whispered that the best thing about that was that if Joshua was paired off with what's-her-name, he would no longer be chasing after Wendy. Van tried to ignore that voice. Joshua was a good kid. There wouldn't have been anything wrong with his crush on Wendy, if only Wendy had returned his affection. Hell, maybe it would have been better for her if she had. Following Joshua would have been a heck of a lot better for her than wanting to tag along after a man twice her age.
Van had left Dann on a bluff overlooking the desert. It would be a convenient launching point, though he hadn't thought much about that factor last night. He had, in fact, been too exhausted and overwhelmed to think about anything once he had killed the Claw. He had a vague memory of eating a meal in that downstairs dining room, with Pricilla sitting on one side of him and Wendy on the other, but he couldn't even remember what he had eaten. People had kept talking to him, but he had no memory of what they had said. He had hunched down and tried to avoid winching too visibly when the oldtimers slapped him on the back in congratulations. Then he had dragged himself to bed. He had woken up knowing only that he needed to leave, needed space to think, needed time to figure out what next.
Well, he had all the time in the world, didn't he? Thanks to his link with Dann, he wasn't getting any older. The possibility of centuries of life lay before him, and if he thought about it too hard, it would drive him to desparation. He had no idea how to fill an eternity without Elena. So he didn't think about it. He put one foot in front of the other, walking into the sunrise. All he had to do today was get his armor back to the satellite so that it could heal. After that, he'd think of something. But that was enough to think about for today.
He was almost relieved to hear the sound of Carmen's Tonda overhead, because it was something to distract him from the emptiness. He wasn't exactly pleased that she had come looking for him, but he would rather face Carmen than Pricilla, or . . . God damn it, I thought I dodged that bullet! he thought when he saw Wendy spring out of the flying car. He sighed, recognizing the determined expression on the face of his one-time companion. Wendy never changed her mind. How the hell was he was going to convince her not to keep tagging along after him? But first things first. Wendy was his most pressing concern, but he set that aside in order to give a proper farewell to Carmen. He would never have made it this far without her help, and he was grateful.
Carmen gave him something new to think about, all right, with her announcement that she had a crush on him. What the hell? When did that happen? And why was he always the last person to know these things? To his relief, though, she didn't seem to expect any response from him. She gave a laugh, and a smile, and was gone, just like that . . . leaving him alone with Wendy.
Van sat down on a nearby rock and eyed Wendy thoughtfully. He couldn't help remembering that morning, all those months ago, when their journey together began. They had been watching the sunrise from a hilltop that day, too. But there were so many differences between that first day and this one that Van couldn't begin to count them. Then, he had been obsessed with revenge; intent only on finding the Claw. Now, his need for revenge was gone, leaving a gaping hole in his life. He didn't yet know what could possibly fill it, but at least there was room for something else, if he could ever find out what that might be.
Wendy had changed, too, he realized. She wasn't the vulnerable child trailing after him anymore: she stood before him as a strong, confident girl. There were subtle differences in her face and her figure that suggested that she had put one foot over the line separating childhood from adulthood. It wouldn't be very long before she stood clearly on the side of adulthood. He was a little sorry that he wouldn't be there to see that.
"Have you gotten taller . . . or something?" he asked.
"Yeah, maybe," she said.
"You were just a kid when he first met," he told her. He admired how strong she was, but he couldn't help thinking with a little regret about some of the things that had happened to strip of her childhood. No girl her age should ever have to pull the trigger on her only remaining family member. If he could go back in time to that morning in Evergreen, knowing now what this journey would cost Wendy, would he still let her follow him? He wasn't sure.
She smiled, accepting his praise for what it was without making a fuss out of it. Then she asked the one question that he really couldn't answer: "So, what are you going to do next?" He frowned, wishing that he knew what to tell her, not just about this, but about everything: why he had to go; why she couldn't come with him; what lay in the future for both of them. How could he tell her things he didn't fully understand himself?
"I haven't really figured that out yet," he said slowly, still frowning. Then he swung himself up to his full height, stepping away from the rock as smoothly as if he were going for a walk around the park, instead of preparing to wander the earth. "See ya," he said casually, meaning it not as a promise, but as a faint hope. It was a wide world, but who knew when their paths might cross again? He would like to see her again someday, if fate willed it.
"Ah . . . wait!" she called out to him as he walked away. He froze. This was the moment he had been dreading. He could have kept moving, he supposed. He could have sprinted for his armor. But he felt that after months of traveling with him, she had earned the right to have him hear her out. He waited, with his back turned towards her. Whatever was coming next—whether it was a confession of her puppy love for him (as if he didn't know), or an offer to keep traveling with him (as if he could have accepted it)—he didn't want to encourage it.
He wasn't expecting what he heard next: the sound of footsteps moving away from him. He paused, listening for a moment. Yes, Wendy was walking away, without begging or pleading or clinging to his coattails. She really has grown up, he thought, and to his great embarrassment, something prickled at his eyes. Damn it, but he was proud of her.
There was some part of him that wanted to tell her that. He considered turning back and thanking her for everything she had done for him, or at least wishing her good luck. But he was afraid that if he turned around and spoke to her, she would break down. Or maybe he would.
Instead, he stepped forward into the dawn of a new day, not knowing what lay ahead, and only starting to recognize the depth of the loss that lay behind.