Disclaimer: I don't own Trigun [Maximum], or Vash, Luida, Brad, Jessica, or any of the other characters in the manga / anime series. They all belong to Mr. Yasuhiro Nightow.

My own inventions include: Lumia, Larissa, Shyla Jones, Lisa Reeve, and the other Reeve family members.

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Please also take a moment to read "Touching a Soul" by JasperK. That story details a situation that occurs "off stage" during this chapter. If you like this tale at all, you will really appreciate JasperK's companion tale. Please, check it out – it's excellent reading!

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Weary Weekend

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Lisa turned to the next page and continued reading about things that occurred during the middle of the winter of 0139…

...

Friday was a long day.

I had to do a lot of traffic directing in the aftermath of the storm, so although I saw my girls, Vash and Shyla during the day… I had almost no opportunity to speak with any of them. Shyla spent most of her day in the community kitchen, helping to feed everyone involved with repairs.

Vash almost seemed to be everywhere, lending a helping hand wherever one was needed. It didn't matter how unglamorous or dirty the job was. On the other hand, it didn't seem to matter how precise a skill was needed, either. If it needed doing, he would go and help. Many in the younger generation, who knew of him mostly from tales told, were impressed by either his knowledge or else by his humility.

I learned toward evening that Vash had also shown an inclination toward offering to get refreshments for whatever team he was currently working with. I had noticed that he appeared in the community kitchen oftener than others, but I'd thought he was either hungry himself, or else seeking excuses to visit his favorite young chef.

After learning how frequently he offered to fetch snacks for others, though, I suspect the latter is the more likely explanation. From the way he talked during the storm, he may not yet be consciously aware of just how much he's drawn toward her.

However, perhaps I am merely imagining things that don't exist. Shyla is, after all, perhaps the only other non-hostile independent Plant that Vash knows. He may simply enjoy the company of another member of his own race.

As the second sun was disappearing behind the horizon, he came to the community kitchen for the last time, for the day. Most had already left, but Shyla was among the few helping to finish with the cleanup. Vash spoke with the supervisor, and Shyla joined him. The supervisor shook both of their hands, and then they turned away to walk home.

Vash put his right arm around Shyla's shoulders, and she put her left arm around his waist, and they were talking softly with each other as they slowly walked away. If anyone called to them, they would smile, wave, and keep walking.

I saw a movement from the corner of my eye, as I was watching them walk away. It was Jessica, raising her hands and clenching them into fists. Beyond her, I could see Brad. He looked uncomfortable as he watched his wife while he held their young daughter in one arm, and extended his other arm to hold hands with his son.

I sighed. It seemed that I must inform them, at least, of Shyla's race. Perhaps that would ease the tensions. The fact that they were both of the same race, where there were so few others like them, might be the greatest bond between them.

On the other hand, she had been able to calm him from a distressing nightmare, where I had not. Yet even that might have been the result of differences in how our bodies work that I can only imagine.

I might never know. At least they were friends, and each seemed good for the other. That was something.

I moved just enough to catch Brad's attention, and looked toward his wife, and then tipped my head toward where Jessica stood. He nodded, and we both walked to her.

"It's been a long day," I observed dryly.

"Yes, it has," Brad said.

Jessica appeared to ignore both of us, continuing to glare after Vash and Shyla.

I looked back toward Vash and Shyla, in time to see him stumble and her hug him more tightly to prevent him from falling.

"It appears to have worn out everybody," I said, "both human and Plant."

Brad saw where I was looking, and nodded. He adjusted his hold on his little girl, who was nodding drowsily and leaning her small head on her father's broad shoulder.

"He's always so concerned about everyone," I said, carefully trying to avoid sounding fond of him, "both human and Plant. Small wonder he shows so much concern for the only other Plant he knows well, who's not in an orb. Especially since she's so much younger than he is. For him, it must be somewhat like discovering a long lost little sister, when both had long been orphaned."

Brad did a double-take, and then looked thoughtful. "She's a Plant, too, eh?"

"We will doubtless need to mention that officially before too much longer," I said. "She doesn't age like a normal human, so people will begin to wonder. We wanted to give her some time to settle in, first, and for everyone to get used to having her around, before announcing that. She's one of us, now, regardless of her race."

"She seems like a nice kid," Brad said. "Will she protect us, like Vash did?"

"She doesn't seem to have the same fighting skills that he does," I said, "or at least she doesn't have them yet. Time will tell. Although I believe that if she had to, she would try her best. Even if she didn't like us, she would fight for us anyway – simply because Vash does. However, I hope she will grow to like all of us, and that she will never need to defend us."

"Hmm, yeah," Brad said. "If she can do even half the things Vash could, I wouldn't want her to be my enemy." He looked at his wife, who continued to stare after Vash and Shyla with a sour expression on her face.

"Vash was a hundred and fifty years old when he saved us," I said softly. "Shyla is not yet thirty. She may still have much to learn, even about being a Plant."

"Maybe," Brad said. He was still watching his wife, and looking uncomfortable.

"I hope you all rest well, after working so hard today," I offered.

"Thanks," Brad said, looking relieved. He recognized a farewell when he heard one. "Come on, Jessica, let's go home."

Jessica finally flicked her gaze in the direction of her husband. He turned and began to walk away toward their house. She followed, though she also constantly looked over her shoulder toward Vash and Shyla.

I privately thought it was a good thing that the two houses were at opposite ends of our village.

I traveled my own homeward journey, and arrived to find my daughters ready for bed. We had all eaten at the community kitchen, so we only hugged and kissed each other good night before turning in.

…

Saturday morning's tree-tending felt like it went by more swiftly than usual.

Everyone was so tired that they were inclined to do only the bare minimum. Yet we did not finish earlier than usual, because Vash was there hovering over the young trees like a mother Thomas. He motivated everyone to take good care of the trees, and somehow he managed to make it fun.

Thankfully, the storm had struck during the winter when the trees had no leaves to be caught by the wind. So there was little damage, but they did need more of our sandy soil built up around their roots to protect them from the cold.

With Vash's encouragement, everyone did their best and the time flew by swiftly. Shyla was also present, and participating, but she lacked Vash's skills for entertaining and motivating others. As usual, she was quietly efficient and easily overlooked... even though she stayed near Vash, who was the center of attention, all morning.

Everyone scattered for lunch, and afterward I think most of us turned toward various forms of relaxation. I picked up a favorite book, and curled up on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate and a soft quilt, planning to do some reading.

Lumia and Larissa emerged from the kitchen after finishing the dishes from lunch.

"We're going shopping, Mama," Lumia said.

"Will you come with us?" Larissa said.

"I'm tired, dear hearts," I said. "Yesterday was exhausting. I think I'll stay here and read, instead, if you don't mind too terribly."

Each came and kissed my cheek.

"We'll miss you," Larissa said.

"You're not sick or anything?" Lumia asked, sounding worried.

"No, I'm just old and tired," I said, smiling at her. I'd discovered yet another grey hair this morning. Their number was growing each year. At this rate, it wouldn't be long before they formed streaks all through my hair.

Since I was 53, I shouldn't expect to look or feel as young as they. However, I remained a bit wistful about the aging process. I didn't feel ready to be this old.

Both girls laughed, and then Lumia said, "Well, I suppose that is a kind of sickness. Maybe someday I'll find a cure for it."

"I doubt that it will be easily cured," I said tauntingly, hoping to cheer both them and myself.

"Oh, but she can be determined!" Larissa said, getting into the spirit of our talk.

"Yes, I can!" Lumia said. She struck a pose that suggested, at least to my mind, more of stubbornness than determination. Her facial expression was equally exaggerated.

I laughed. I couldn't help it. "Are you trying to frighten it away?" I asked.

"If it worked, then I was!" Lumia said.

Larissa started giggling.

I was spared from needing to invent a suitable reply by a knock on the door.

Larissa was nearest, so she opened it to reveal Vash and Shyla standing on our doorstep.

"Come in," I called, as soon as I saw them.

"We're going shopping," Larissa said. "Will you come with us?"

"The stores may be closed," I warned. "Most of the shopkeepers are nearly as old as I am, and they might be equally tired."

"Then we'll take a long walk," Lumia said. "It's such a glorious day; I can't stay inside and miss it all!"

Ah, youth…

Vash looked at Shyla, and nodded.

"I will go with you," she said.

"Hooray!" Larissa said.

Vash stepped into the house, and our daughters claimed Shyla by standing on either side of her and each linking an arm into hers. The girls walked away, and Vash closed the door behind them.

"Can I get you anything?" I asked.

"No," he said, and patted his stomach with a grin. "Shyla saw to it that I'm not hungry."

I chuckled. "Yes, she would do that," I said. "Please, take a seat and make yourself comfortable. Then tell me what's on your mind."

He sat down on a smaller couch near the one where I sat, and seemed to relax. "How is Shyla doing?" he asked. "Is she able to do her lessons?"

"Her mind is like a very dry cloth when it touches water," I said. "She's soaking in every drop that she can get."

"She's always seemed intelligent," he said. He looked down, and his right hand moved toward his chest, but stopped short of touching his shirt. He frowned thoughtfully. "You… you haven't found her mental capacity lacking in any way, have you?" He continued contemplating his hand, where he held it over his chest, without touching.

"No," I said. "Where did a ridiculous question like that come from? She's sharp as a razor, once she learns something or even starts learning it. However, with new things that she hasn't yet learned she grows frustrated with herself. It's not unusual for her to insult herself with words like 'stupid' and 'dumb' when she's learning something entirely new and thinks that it's going too slowly."

"When I woke up this morning," he said, "I was lying on my left side. She was lying tightly against my back, with her arm around me. Her fingers had slipped between the buttons on my pajama top, and she was touching some of my scars."

He was still looking down, and his hand still hovered over his chest. I guessed that was probably where she'd touched his skin through the gaps between buttons on his pajama top. I sat quietly, waiting for him to continue.

"I told her that she was touching scars, and she startled. She immediately withdrew her hand, just enough that she wasn't touching," he said. "She asked if she'd hurt me, and I said no. Then…"

He shook his head, and his expression was completely baffled… yet there was a hint of wonder on his face, too. "Then she sighed, and said 'thank God,' and put her hand back exactly where it had been, touching my scars again. That surprised me so much that she'd fallen back asleep before I had any idea of what to say."

I tipped my head to one side, experiencing my own confusion over what to say.

"She touched my scars," he said, very softly, "and all that mattered to her was if it hurt me. It didn't seem to bother her at all."

"She's not the only one who worries that touching you may cause you pain," I said gently. "Many of us have avoided touching you for that very same reason."

His facial reaction, upon hearing my comment, caused me to ask, "Did you think there was a different reason?"

"Disgust, revulsion, horror… things like that," he said softly, without looking up.

"No!" I said. Then, half teasingly, but also half seriously, I added in a warning tone of voice, "Don't tempt me to come over there and prove a lack of those things!"

I felt my face flush. What would I do if he bid me come to him? Hopefully, I'd resist the temptation… hopefully…

One corner of his mouth quirked up, and he raised his gaze up to my face. His cheeks were distinctly pinker than they had been.

We sat there, gazing at each other's flushed faces for the space of several heartbeats, while I scrambled to collect my thoughts and find something harmless or useful to say.

"Did she say anything else, after she woke up again?" I asked gently, when I could.

"She said I had cried out in my sleep, and that's why she came to me," he said. He dropped his gaze back to the floor. "She said she just hugged me until I relaxed. However, I had placed my hand over hers as I slept, so she stayed to avoid waking me. Then she fell asleep."

I nodded. "That would be like her," I said.

"Doesn't she know that she shouldn't get into bed with me?" he said, looking at me again and still sounding deeply puzzled.

"Human biology has not yet come up as a topic for study," I admitted. "It came up in a conversation once, under circumstances where instruction wasn't appropriate at the time. She seemed to know that it's considered 'bad manners' for two people of opposite genders to share a bed, unless they're married. However, she seemed completely puzzled as to why. If you cried out, though, she wouldn't care about manners. She would go to her friend, and try to comfort him."

He looked thoughtful, and nodded slowly.

"In fact," I said slowly, almost thinking out loud, "I suspect that she might have gone, to you, even if she fully understood everything. She's very partial to you, Vash."

"She's an affectionate child," he said fondly. He again stared down at his own chest, where she had touched his scars.

As I watched him staring at himself, I realized something. Shyla hadn't just touched his body when she touched those scars. She had accidentally touched his naked soul, and he wasn't sure how to react to that.

He sat there, quietly, for a long time. Eventually, he lowered his hand.

"Please," he said softly, "somehow, help her to understand that she shouldn't get into bed with me. I tried to tell her that it could be dangerous. During a nightmare, I might mistake her for an enemy attacking me, and hurt her. She said she didn't believe I would ever hurt her… but in my sleep, if I didn't know it was her…"

He looked up at me, his expression pained. "I don't want to hurt her, Luida."

"Of course you don't," I said gently. Then I smiled. "You never want to hurt anybody, let alone a friend."

That same corner of his mouth quirked upward again. "That's true," he said. "I don't."

"I'll try to explain things to her," I promised.

"Thank you," he said, sounding relieved.

"So," I said, "will you be coming to church with us tomorrow? Shyla's in the choir, and I understand they've all been practicing hard to have a song ready for this weekend. I'd imagine that, after weathering the storm, there will be extra incentive to celebrate."

"Shyla's in the choir?" he said, sounding surprised.

"Yes," I said. "It took some heavy-handed encouragement, but I got her to join shortly after you brought her here. She's finally starting to enjoy it a little, three years later. She loves music, but she's so terribly bashful that it's still difficult for her."

"The town where she grew up was too small for a choir," he said. "She does love music. That was a good idea, getting her to join a choir. And you're right, I should support her effort. I will go to church tomorrow, so that I can listen to her sing."

"You sound as if you'd not planned to attend?" I said.

"I'd thought of leaving tonight," he said, "after what happened last night. I'd originally planned to stay for a week or two, but the storm has everyone wanting to stick each with their own immediate family circle. So there's no point in my staying longer, since I'd only be in the way."

"Then I'm glad we talked," I said. "First, because you can never be in the way, not here. You're family to all of us. You will always be welcome in my house, even if all other doors are closed against you. And second, because it would mean a lot to Shyla, for you to hear her sing and enjoy it."

"I can enjoy Shyla's singing at home," he said, declining to comment on my first point. "I'll attend, though, for the sake of my young friend."

"Don't you like going to church?" I asked, surprised. "I thought you always attended with Naomi and Shyla."

"I attended with them," he said, nodding. "But I'm always uncomfortable in churches."

"Don't you believe in God?" I asked, thinking I recalled hearing him talk as if he did.

"Yes," he said. "Rem taught me that, and the Ten Commandments, and to pray. That's almost all I know, except that bounty hunters attend churches, too."

I winced. "I don't think there are any bounty hunters here," I said. "If any appear, we'll do our best to keep them out of the church."

That whimsical corner of his mouth quirked upward again. "No," he said, "they might need it more than I do."

I laughed, and then said, "We all need it."

He shrugged, and then stood up. "I should let you read your book," he said. "And I ought to check around Shyla's house, to make sure nothing there needs repairs."

I started to get up, but he gestured at me to stay and said, "Don't worry, I can let myself out. Enjoy your book." He smiled, and was gone before I had quite decided what to say.

I looked a little wistfully at my book, but I put it aside. I unwrapped from my quilt, drank my cooling hot chocolate, and stood.

In a few minutes, I was at the bookseller's door. When he opened it, I said, "Vash needs a Bible. He may leave before Monday. May I please see if you have one that's small and light, that he can take with him?"

The man was old enough to know Vash from before the puppet master's attack. He smiled. "For Vash's sake, I will open my store for you," he said.

"Thank you," I said.

…

Lisa skipped over the details of Luida shopping among the small selection of Bibles, to choose the one she thought would best suit Vash. She found that less interesting than the descriptions of shopping trips that were for clothes, for Shyla.

She turned to the next day, to see how well Shyla's choir had sung.

…

I brought the Bible I'd chosen for Vash with me. Both of our daughters approved the idea, and they had also written well-wishes for him, beside mine, inside the dark Thomas-hide leather cover.

We arrived to find him standing in the back, visiting with people as they came in. He was smiling, as usual, but he was also shifting from one foot to the other and his shoulders were tense.

I began to approach him, and my bodyguards encouraged the crowd to part and allow me to come through. I sighed.

Most of the time, my bodyguards were so unobtrusive that I almost forgot they were there. Church was a notable exception, where they always felt, to me, as if they were out of place. It was always tempting to try to send them home. However, as I'd told Vash, I really believed that Church could be good for everyone… including well-intentioned but awkward bodyguards.

I put the best face on the situation that I could. "Has anyone invited you to sit with them?" I asked Vash, when I reached him.

"No," he said, "or at least, not yet."

"Then let's show everyone that the Council still welcomes you," I said. "Come sit with me and my girls, please?"

The tension in his shoulders eased very slightly. If I'd not been looking at his face and seen the movement, I probably would not have noticed the difference at all.

"Okay," he said softly.

"It's nearly time for the service to begin," I said. "Let's go, shall we?" I gestured for him to follow me, and he did.

My girls had been greeting their friends, but when they saw Vash following me toward the area where we usually sat, they joined us… as I'd known they would, when they saw their father coming with me.

When we reached a bench in the area where we usually sat, Larissa darted ahead and beckoned to us. Vash followed.

Lumia began to follow after him, but then she hesitated, looking at me. After a moment, she stepped aside, so that I could follow Vash and sit beside him. She knew that I planned to give him the Bible I'd bought for him yesterday afternoon, and that it would be more convenient if I sat beside him to offer the gift.

I smiled at her, and hugged her briefly as I passed. She smiled back, and we filed in behind Vash to take our seats.

I knew I hadn't much time, if I was going to give him his gift before service started. So I handed it to him as soon as I sat down. "Here," I said, "you might find this helpful."

He reflexively reached out and took the small book I handed to him. His brows drew together in a thoughtful frown as he read the cover, and then opened it. As he read what we'd written inside the cover, his frown melted away into a very gentle expression.

"So you three are worried about my soul?" he said softly.

"Yes," I said.

"Thank you," he said.

"Please," I said, "don't just accept it. Read it, too."

"I will," he said.

I knew Vash well enough to know that tone of voice. He wasn't just agreeing to put me off, ending a potentially awkward conversation. He was giving voice to an intention, describing something that he was determined to do.

I nodded, satisfied. "Thank you," I said.

The overture began playing, and we both fell silent and looked to the front.

The service went much as usual, though the preacher did acknowledge Vash's presence and included him in the benediction.

Shyla looked well in her silver-grey dress with the red embroidery and trim. She had added a matching grey ribbon to her hair, and matching red ribbon around her throat. She sang beautifully, and I suspected that she sang nearly as much for Vash as for God.

I could forgive her for that, though. When it came to Vash, I often felt the same way.