Conversations
It's not that bad, my little make shift home. It's a rickety little house, far of in the dessert. The wood creaks, looking more like bone from how cracked and blanched the suns and sand make it. Of the three rooms, only Legato's is really livable. You know, because the insulation had to wear out everywhere else, so Knives and I get rooms that go from happy-fun sweltering to wonderful freezing. While I stand by the fridge, sticking my face in it to cool down, I can just imagine Knives speaking:
"You gave the best room to the HUMAN, Vash? Why! Are you doing this JUST to spite me?"
To which I'd calmly respond:
"You need to calm down, Knives, because Legato's trying to sleep -or to be in a coma at least. Besides, I didn't just give the room with the working air conditioning to a human, I gave it to a critically injured human. You know how vulnerable their wounds are to infection, especially when those wounds are in delicate places- like a hole in the head!That human never would have ended up like he is now if he'd never met either of us! Actually, that's true for all humans!"
I end my imaginary conversation right there.
It's probably better if I spend my time doing something constructive in real life instead. I close the fridge and say bye-bye to its cold air, walking over the old bone hallway to Knives and Legato's rooms. I turn the oiled brass knob of Legato's first. Telling myself jokingly that it's just 'cause I miss the cold air that much already.
That's not true, though.
I rush over to the bedside, the one without the IV drip, glad there's no one here to see me fretting at the killer's side. I wonder if maybe, maybe Legato is just a corpse that's kept fresh by the plant arm- mine; well, it's his now. I press my first and index finger to the side of his neck. There's a strong pulse. He lives. I let go of a breath I didn't mean to hold for that long. But, I still wonder if he is just a corpse.
With Knives, at least his eyelids twitch or he makes a small sound. Knives is dreaming, or thinking.
Legato, he's just exactly like a wax doll.
That thought reminds me to take a damp cloth and wipe his skin. He seems healthy and physically perfect, except for the bullet hole. As I brush his bangs aside and wipe the smooth tawny skin of his face, the thick navy lashes don't flutter.
His eyelids don't snap open, it's like every muscle's frozen into a placid look.
Like if it, he, was designed. That's what scares me the most, just like with a wax doll.
I quickly open the drawer by his bed, to take out some injections of antibiotics.
It took some time to convince the Doctor of why I needed so many of them so badly.
I prepare a clean needle and wipe a spot on Legato's arm with rubbing alcohol.
It's pretty hard to convince people who now live on Gunsmoke to give up precious medical supplies. It takes a lot of trust, and I feel like I betrayed that trust by not being perfectly clear on who I needed the medicine for.
I load a couple millimeters into the needle. I'm careful to get rid of the air bubbles. Legato looks so peaceful; I wonder if he'd laugh to know I took medicine away from good people,my friends, in order to use it on him. Of course he'd laugh. I find a vein in his arm and push the needle in until it breaks his skin. Legato would say that by taking medicine from them, I'm pushing them closer to death. That's not true. I have to switch to the other arm, his left, because the vein I'd chosen has been stuck so many times that by now it's difficult to use. Piercing a fresh vein, I release the medicine into Legato.
I respond: "I'm not a killer".
The needle gets tossed into the waste basket when I'm done with it. I wonder if it's a bad idea to leave a crazy nihilist who just attempted suicide-by-Vash alone in a room with sharp objects. I switch him into fresh blankets, thinking that I'll take the sharps out latter, before he wakes up. I take a last look at Legato, before leaving to tend to my brother. Knives is the better of the two. At least, he scares me less. He looks like more of a wreak than Legato. He was all sweat and blood at first, but he's definitely alive. He'll toss and turn sometimes, or moan or grimace when I clean his nearly healed bullet wounds.I know he's awake and conscious, it's a plant thing.
I make sure he's clean and comfortable, waiting for when he decides to wake up. Until then, I change his bandages and sheets before leaving to stand by the door frame as the suns' light fades,
"Whenever you're ready, Knives...brother."
The last room I go to is the most run down of all, mine. But it's cozy. Even if I couldn't let Meryl and Milly join me, they still send little gifts every time I see them. This last time it was a quilt Milly made with the bright fabric scraps that her big, middle and little big brothers and sisters sent her, and some books and a straight razor from Meryl. I can't help but smile when I see their gifts on my bed.
This place can feel like home, sometimes.
AN: Just to clarify, Vash is not having real conversations with Knives and Legato, not even telepathic ones.
I'll be having Knives wake up next chapter, so Vash can do something other than talk to himself.