It was the same empty feeling again; the feeling that always accompanied the weightlessness.
Three times he'd felt it, and three times he'd asked himself the same question:
Why was I ever born?
There was nothing to break up the absolute intensity of his despair, of his self-hatred. Sure, he knew he wasn't awake, but in this barren pool of unconsciousness, bathed in a cold kind of twilight, he had no idea how long he had been under.
All he could do was wait.
His mind played cruel tricks on him. He would look down at his arms and see no scars, and for a moment, he would find himself taking this illusion for fact, as if his body had always been this way. Then he'd remember that he was trapped in his mind, staring at a body that wasn't real, a body he didn't recognize. Other times, he'd swear he was in some nowhere town, surrounded by people he used to know, people who had already passed on, and it felt so real. And then there were times where he'd be haunted by the memories of himself when he was a child, but knowing now exactly what would happen to the people he loved.
In this place, all he could do was think about the past.
There were no distractions, no damsels in distress, no children to argue with, no angry insurance girls, no whiskey to dull the pain. He could see the vast wasteland of his life completely laid out before him. He spent what felt like years regretting each and every one of hismistakes, even wishing that Rem hadn't stopped the rest of the crew from killing them when they'd had the chance. He berated himself for never realizing what Knives' plan had been until it was too late and Rem was already dead. He regretted his hubris, foolishly thinking it was safe to be around humans, stupidly going to the largest city on Gunsmoke, never once stopping to think how Knives could use his body against him. He never once thought Knives would use HIS OWN BODY against the ones he loved.
Every once in a while, he felt a gentle tug on his mind, but it never lasted long enough to bring him out. But...he still felt it, and it felt comforting and it turned his thoughts to someone else...someone in particular.
He'd think about one girl, about the one who said she wouldn't run away, abut the one person who really made him feel...human.
But even thoughts of her broke his heart now. He'd let her down so many times... This whole crazy race to the Seeds ship; god, what had he been THINKING? Endangering the lives of the only real friends he had? And for what? For a set of ideals even he was having a hard time believing in?
And the look on her face the last time he'd seen her... She trusted him so much...TOO much. He'd never seen anyone look at him that way before, and he'd been in a lot of dangerous situations with a lot of different people. No, it was true. He couldn't remember anybody ever looking at him that way in his entire life.
But...would that look be the last he got from her? He didn't even know if she was alive...she could be dead because of him. And even if she did survive, well, he didn't even want to imagine that look of trust morph into a look of fear and disgust. He couldn't handle it...not from her.
What if she thought he was a monster? A freak? What if she never looked at him the same way again?
For some reason, that thought hurt him most of all.
He had the heart of a human, the face of an angel, but his body...his grotesquely scarred skin, his apocalyptic tendancies, his inability to control his power... Who could possibly feel safe around him?
If Wolfwood was there, it wouldn't have had to come to this. If he were alive, he would have helped Vash figure out what to do. If he were there...
...then Legato would be dead by Wolfwood's hand and Knives probably would have shared the same fate.
Oh god, how could he think such selfish, monstrous things? Using a friend's murderous tendencies so that his fragile ideals could remain intact? This wasn't why he missed him. This wasn't the reason he wanted Wolfwood to still be alive.
Vash always tried to be so noble, so good, but even he couldn't keep up with his own standards these days. Something was always unfair for somebody and he could never make it right. He could never make it fair. And he was so, so tired of failing, especially when his shortcomings resulted in the deaths of others.
If he ever saw her again, he would send her away. It was the only right thing for him to do. It didn't matter anymore that he wanted to stay with her. She wasn't safe with him. As long as Knives was alive...hell, as long as HE was alive, she wouldn't be safe.
He'd made up his mind. He was going to miss her a lot.
He felt that familiar pleasant tug on his mind and he waited for it to pass. There was no reason to get used to such a fleeting sensation. It was stronger than usual, though, and it was becoming very hard to ignore.
After a while, he felt himself getting lighter. He was being pulled in the direction of the sensation. He closed his eyes tightly and waited for whatever was going to happen next...
...but nothing did.
The feeling of weight returned to his body and he sighed deeply in disappointment. Nothing had changed. Well...there was something... He felt lopsided, like his right side was heavier than his left.
He opened his eyes and saw soft dim whiteness. He blinked a few times and realized he was looking at a ceiling.
Another hallucination. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the illusion. This wasn't real. His mind was just playing tricks again.
The weight on his right side shifted. He looked down and saw a mop of black hair resting against his hand. Jeez. He was missing her so much, he'd started imagining she was there.
He unthinkingly flexed the fingers underneath her face as he resumed his vigil on the ceiling. He imagined what she would do if he really were awake. She's probably clock him upside the head and give him a lecture about how her time was valuable and much too precious to be wasted watching over his sorry comatose butt. Who was he kidding? If this were real, why would she even be there at all?
He felt movement and looked over, expecting the angry and prideful face he'd just imagined. The face his eyes fell upon, however, couldn't have been more different. Tired, worried, bloodshot eyes met his and her mouth tried to work, but nothing would come out. A few stray tears rolled down her now-blushing cheeks as she blinked, unsure of whether she should hug him, say something, or turn tail and run away as fast as she could.
Her eyes went wide as he made the decision for her. He sat up and reached around her, pulling her half onto the bed in a clumsy embrace. This was real. He was awake. After a few seconds, she relaxed into him and started to cry a bit. He held onto her loosely, but securely. There were so many questions he wanted to ask her. What had happened? Where was Knives? Was Milly okay? How long had he been unconscious? But he figured since she was alright and they were on the Seeds ship that those questions could wait.
When she stopped crying, he pulled her away from him and got a good look at her. He gave her a visual once over, automatically running his hands through her hair to check for any head injuries. He started mentally berating himself. He didn't even know how long he'd been unconscious, but surely it had been long enough for any lumps to heal. He would have continued verbally beating himself up, too, if he hadn't noticed that as his hand slid down the side of her face, she closed her eyes and he could have sworn he felt her lean into the touch ever so slightly. To this, his heart responded by picking up the pace. This threw him for a loop. He unthinkingly pulled her back into the lazy embrace and tried to focus on what he was supposed to say:
It isn't safe for you here.
Take Milly and go somewhere far, far away.
Change your name, don't ever let anyone know you had anything to do with me.
I couldn't stand it if you got hurt.
But all those thoughts were distilled into just four little words:
"Long time, no see..."