The bulk of this story occurs several years before the manga or anime begin.

Note: I do not own Trigun, Meryl Stryfe, Milly Thompson, or "Vash the Stampede": they all belong to the incomparable Mr. Yasuhiro Nightow.

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The Second Man

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Chapter 12: Reflections

Year 0104 month 7 day 21

When Vash first awakened, amid the rubble that was the remains of the once-great city of July, he remembered almost nothing. Apparently, his mind had been thoroughly numbed by whatever had happened there.

When he searched his mind, he only found memories from his earliest childhood – up to the day of the Great Fall. After the day when the ships fell, he remembered absolutely nothing. He was shocked to find himself both fully-grown and missing most of his left arm (thankfully, somewhere he'd acquired a fully-functional prosthetic arm that replaced his severed limb).

The desert winds whistled and howled mournfully through piles of rubble that stretched as far as he could see. Dust and fine ash drifted down from the upper atmosphere, to dance upon the winds, and then, eventually, fall on and around him. Wind gusts caused his tattered coat and cloak to snap as they moved around his body.

He was physically shaken, too. At first, he was barely able to sit up. After a few tries, he managed to stand. Then he staggered around, looking for other survivors who might need whatever help he could offer.

He was dimly aware of his brother's presence. However, with his own most recent memory being that of the Great Fall, Vash did not feel prepared to face his sibling. So he staggered – away from his brother – toward a different part of the city's rubble.

Vash found no survivors. He didn't even find any corpses.

After realizing that the ground beneath the rubble was concave instead of flat, he half-climbed, half-crawled to the top of a moderately tall rock. He sat there to rest, while he looked around. He saw only devastation. He bowed his head, in weary grief.

The wind gusts continued whipping his tattered cloak and coat around his head and body, or else pulling at those outermost garments as if they would tear them away from him.

Vash still felt an intense, burning pain that was only very slowly receding from his body and his mind. He held still, somewhat precariously perched upon that rock, for hours.

Eventually, people came from beyond the rubble. When they saw him, their faces turned angry.

He fled when they came after him, accusing him of being responsible for the terrible destruction that surrounded them.

Vash desperately hoped that they were mistaken. But he didn't know.

Because he was so extremely exhausted, and then compelled to flee from angry people who blamed him for July's destruction, it was several hours before he discovered his scars. That discovery had been another shock.

He ran farther into the desert's endless dunes, half-wanting to lose himself there forever.

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Year 0110 month 9 day 25

During the six years that followed the loss of July, most of his memories had returned.

There were still gaps, which troubled him. For example, he still could not recall anything that had happened near to the time when July was so completely destroyed. However, the gaps from prior years were growing smaller almost every day.

One missing memory, which had particularly plagued him since meeting the insurance girls, was how familiar Milly Thompson seemed. If he'd met her before, in recent years, she would have recognized him. Yet she didn't.

Why, then, were there so many times when her tone of voice, or a turn of phrase, or a facial expression, or a gesture, seemed so incredibly familiar? It must be that she reminded him of someone else. Yet, try as he might, he simply could not recall anything specific about that "someone else."

Whoever Milly reminded him of must have been a friend. He missed her. Oh, not in the same way, nor with anything close to the same intensity, that he missed Rem. The ache for this unremembered friend was much smaller, but it was there.

It resembled how he missed most of the people who belonged to the Seeds Village (there were a few closer friends there, like Doc and Luida, whom he missed more). Yet, somehow, Vash didn't think the one he missed (but couldn't remember) was a Seeds villager.

When he awakened this morning, out on the open desert, he'd felt very near to recovering that memory. He sat up and silently contemplated the face of the younger insurance girl while she slept. Yet, once again, the memory had eluded him. It was so frustrating!

Milly was as cheerful as always, but Meryl seemed to have climbed out of the wrong side of her sleeping-bag this morning. The petite, dark-haired insurance agent had been grumbling, and walking more slowly than usual, all day long. The result of her balking had been that they didn't arrive in town until slightly after 3:00 pm, instead of at noon as he had originally anticipated.

The town's cafe that sold doughnuts was nearly ready to close for the day. Vash quickly arranged his facial expression into his very best woebegone pleading look, directed at the girl who was locking the door. Thankfully, it had worked. He and Milly went in, while Meryl stalked off to visit the local branch office of her employers.

Milly ordered some of Meryl's favorite foods for her, in the hope that it might cheer her up. The junior insurance agent was chattering on about how nice it would be to wash up and sleep in a regular bed tonight.

Vash didn't disagree, but he did whine a little about not being permitted to eat any doughnuts until after some "regular food" had been eaten. It was good practice. Besides, if he could make these insurance girls (who already knew who he was), forget at times how dangerous he could be... then his act should work even better on strangers.

His whining about doughnuts seemed to bring out Milly's maternal instincts.

"Now Mister Vash," she began, and then she continued chattering on about how important it was to eat healthy food first.

Milly's gently firm voice was partly pleading, partly persuading, and partly scolding. She would become a fine mother, someday.

Vash couldn't help smiling, just a little. Milly rarely complained for herself. Her gentle heart always seemed more concerned for others who were enduring the same discomforts, instead of focusing on herself. Hopefully, over time, she would become a good influence on her temperamental partner.

They were both so young. He realized he was beginning to think of nearly every ordinary human he encountered as a child. They were a lot younger than he was, he had to admit, but many of them were no longer children. He made a mental note to correct that trend before it grew into a bad habit.

Suddenly, into his mind flickered a remembered image. Although the face was unclear, he could clearly see in his mind's eye a pair of dark-chocolate-colored eyes. Through those eyes, he saw a spirit which was deeply wounded, but not defeated, looking out at him.

Those wounded eyes were almost exactly the same shape as Milly's, though in an entirely different color. Was he finally beginning to remember his forgotten friend?

He inwardly forced himself to let his mind relax. Over time, through trial and error, he had learned that was the best method to encourage sleepy memories to reawaken.

Vash continued gently teasing Milly with his childish protests, and thereby distracting her from worrying about Meryl, until the food arrived. The waitress efficiently arranged their food on the table. He and Milly dug in. The younger insurance girl seemed to be enjoying her food, and he was pleasantly surprised by its quality, too.

But she also kept glancing nervously toward the door.

Meryl appeared before long, much to Milly's relief. The senior agent brought with her some mail that had been forwarded to the local branch office.

"Oh!" Milly said, delighted. "There's a letter from Aunt Martha!"

Milly enthusiastically opened the envelope. She began reading her aunt's letter quietly to herself as they ate. Her eyes devoured the words on the paper almost as enthusiastically as she devoured her lunch.

Martha? The image of a face much like Milly's flickered through his mind.

The half-remembered face was framed by shorter hair than Milly's, and that hair was slightly darker and less golden. Those eyes, which were the same shape as Milly's (but with a hue resembling dark chocolate instead of the midday sky), were part of the face that he was finally beginning to recall. The face he saw was a few years younger than the insurance girl's. Yet her young eyes had carried an early maturity forged through pain.

Milly's aunt? Well, that would make some sense. Strong family resemblances could happen between such near kin. Apparently, all Vash had needed, to begin unlocking the missing memories of his friend, was her name. He couldn't recall much about her just yet, but at least he had a face and a name. For the moment, he tried to be content. Having this much meant that the rest would also return, in time.

He quickly finished his salmon sandwiches, so that he could close his eyes as if he were simply thoroughly enjoying his doughnuts.

The previously elusive memories began trickling into his mind. Martha was another gentle girl, much like her niece, who worried about others. She had been a cripple when he met her, and an outcast – even to her own family. Yet she had dared to stand up to her own kin, to plead for his life.

Vash opened his eyes, and glanced at Milly. The resemblance really was very strong. Their noses were different, but the shapes of their eyes and faces were extremely similar. Mystery solved. No wonder Milly's face had teased at his missing memories so much!

He pulled himself out of the returning memories, and focused his attention on what Milly was saying about her aunt's letter. He continued pretending to be entirely absorbed with enjoying his doughnuts.

"I told Aunt Martha, in my last letter, about your scars Mister Vash," Milly was saying. "Last year, just before I left home to go to December and begin working as an insurance agent, she told me a story. I'd heard the story about the Second Man before, but that time she told me a lot more about how he looked. She hoped that, if I saw him, I would be a friend to him. She said we owe him, because of what he did for us."

The words "the second man" set off another cascade of memories. The picture wasn't complete, not yet. At least it was finally forming.

"The second man?" Vash said, carefully controlling his facial expression to show only a very mild curiosity. "What did he do for you?"

"Not me, specifically," Milly said. "It's what he did for our village."

"Get to the point, Milly," Meryl grumbled impatiently. "What did he do that was so great that your aunt wanted you to recognize him if you saw him?"

"He helped us to rediscover who we should be," Milly said, in her usual cheerful manner.

Then her smile faded, and she spoke more softly. "There was a massacre, about two months before I was born," she said. "They arrested a man that they found standing over one of the two people who was still alive. But he wasn't the murderer. He was the Second Man, and he'd come to help."

"What's so great about that?" Meryl said, sounding bored and annoyed again. "That kind of mistake likely happens a lot." She took a bite of her lunch.

"They almost killed him, Miss Meryl," Milly said. "In fact, if Aunt Martha hadn't interfered, they might have killed him by beating him to death."

Meryl nearly choked, but she managed to finish her current mouthful of food safely. Her eyes were wide with astonishment and horror.

She said, "That's terrible!"

"Yes," Milly said sadly, "it was. He recovered, but to everyone's surprise he didn't get angry. Instead, he talked about love and peace. He encouraged them to be more careful in the future. Everyone felt so badly about what had happened that they listened to him. And they changed. It's a better village now than it was then."

"How did they learn their mistake?" Vash said, again carefully controlling his voice to sound only mildly curious.

"The two people that the Second Man tried to save lived long enough to tell about him," Milly said promptly. "Hank is still alive, though he's getting very old now. Every year, around the anniversary of when the Second Man came, either Hank or else Aunt Martha will tell the story to everyone. It's like our village has its very own holiday, about him!"

"I see," Vash said noncommittally.

The words "Hank is still alive" echoed through Vash's mind and heart, touching deep places that he hadn't shared with anyone since Rem died. As he heard those words, he remembered who Hank was. He remembered why it mattered that he had survived.

So... Hank had recovered. Vash had often wondered, before July stole his memories. It felt very good... better than he could have imagined... just to know that Hank still lived.

"We'd all thought that Aunt Martha might die an old maid," Milly continued chattering cheerfully, almost as if she didn't fully understand what that statement implied, "but Fred Turner kept visiting her. It seemed like everybody except for Aunt Martha knew he had taken a shine to her. They finally got married four years ago. About two years ago, they had a little boy, that they named 'Frank' after Fred's grandfather."

"How nice for them," Meryl said dryly. She sounded as if she'd entirely lost interest in anything that Milly was saying.

'They didn't marry until four years ago?' Vash thought, a little surprised and doing his best to keep that from showing on his face. 'Oh man, it sure took him long enough!'

He picked up his glass of milk and began drinking from it. His mind was on Milly's words, and his slowly returning memories, instead of his milk. He drank slowly, pondering as he listened to her.

"I had wondered, a few times, if you might be the Second Man, Mister Vash," Milly said, "even though it would mean you'd have to be about 40 years old and you look a lot younger than that. I think that Aunt Martha might think you're the Second Man, though. She and Fred had a baby girl a week before my letter arrived. They named her Vashelle."

Vash nearly choked on his milk, and sputtered, "They named her what?"

"Vashelle," Milly repeated, undaunted and smiling. "I think she might be named after you, Mister Vash."

When he recovered enough to speak, he said, "It's probably only a coincidence."

Even as he said it, he knew better than that. He felt heat in his face.

Meryl briefly looked at him thoughtfully, but then she returned her attention to her food. "There's no way that you could be forty," she said decisively, with her mouth full. "Twenty-five, at most."

"Maybe I'm older than I look," Vash said mischievously.

"Are you the Second Man?" Milly asked, sounding a little confused but very curious.

Vash took a large bite of doughnut. He shrugged and looked out the window.

He saw out of the corner of one eye that Milly looked disappointed. However, she soon recovered. She began to chatter about various things that were happening in her home village according to her aunt's letter.

Vash half-listened, while still looking out the window. He knew that his mind would record every word she said, and play it back to him as needed. Half a doughnut was held, briefly forgotten, in his hand. He was again examining his newly-awakened memories.

He now remembered coming upon the scene of a massacre, too late to save most of the victims. He recalled trying desperately to save the two who were not dead. He remembered being arrested, and beaten severely. He remembered Martha's voice – a voice that sounded nearly identical to Milly's – pleading with Ike and Dusty to stop.

He remembered feigning unconsciousness. He attempted to gather his strength enough to resist them and fight for his life (hopefully without injuring them) if they didn't stop. He remembered Martha continuing to plead, until they relented and started picking him up to put him on the bed in the cell. He recalled passing out as they moved him.

He remembered persuading Martha to tell him her whole life's story as she looked after his injuries. He remembered protecting her, later, and seeing something in her face and eyes that suggested she might be looking toward him as something more than a friend.

He remembered seeing a similar expression in the face, and especially the eyes, of young Fred Turner whenever the youth looked at Martha. She hadn't noticed it, but Vash had.

Vash had told Martha more about himself than usual, hoping to cure her of that blossoming infatuation. The poor girl was so desperately lonely that she still looked on him too fondly even after he'd told her the truth about what he was.

It had been almost like having a friend from Seeds, when he was badly in need of a friendly face. Now that he'd recovered those memories, he would always treasure them.

The picture still wasn't complete, but at least he remembered Martha now. More memories continued awakening. He began to relax more, internally. It felt so good to remember!

He felt an amused smile playing around the corners of his mouth as he remembered two times when he spoke with Fred on the subject of Martha.

"It won't help Martha to be admired from a distance," Vash had said. He and Fred were standing on the porch of Martha's house, while she held Fred's sleeping baby brother inside. "She needs a friend, someone who will help her to feel less lonely."

"I know," Fred had said, blushing. "I've tried, but I never know what to say. And then I feel so embarrassed that I walk away before I can even get close enough to talk to her."

"Then perhaps you might try being friends with both her and her brother," Vash had said. "That would get you around her, and it might help you figure out what to say to her."

"I might try that," Fred had said, hesitantly. "Thank you."

"Take care of her," Vash had said. "She's a good person, and everyone needs friends."

"I'll try," Fred had promised.

So Vash hadn't been terribly surprised when he learned that Fred had taken a job that took him to Martha's house twice a week. Nor was he surprised to learn that Fred had often found reasons to linger there. Vash had fully understood what was happening, when he learned of it. Martha had remained completely oblivious.

Vash began to remember bits and pieces of having returned to the village, twice, after he left it. Both of those visits had occurred when he found young orphans that needed the orphanage outside December. First, there was a baby girl. Several years later, there was a young blond boy who hadn't stopped crying - no matter what anyone did for him.

After the trip with the crying boy, Vash had known that he shouldn't return to visit Martha again. The sweet girl had made him an offer that he was forced to refuse (for her own good). He couldn't say it hadn't been tempting, because it had: she was willing to marry him, even knowing that he might return rarely... or never. However, doing something like that would not have been fair to her.

There was the other side of the coin to consider, too. He was at least as lonely as she was. If he allowed her that close to him, even once, he was very likely, over time, to fully reciprocate her feelings. She was such a kind, gentle soul, that – if he allowed himself to do so – it would be very easy to begin to love her as she loved him.

But even if he successfully protected her from his murderous brother, he didn't know what it might do to him when her brief human lifespan ended. He still missed Rem, and it hurt terribly that he could no longer see her, or hug her, or speak with her.

He couldn't afford to allow himself to be crippled by heartbreak. Not while his brother was still out there, somewhere, killing people.

Would Martha have been worth it? Vash suppressed an urge to sigh as he asked himself that question. He would have given his life for her, if needed. Giving his life to her, for half a century or so, though... he didn't know. He couldn't let himself think about it. The timing had been all wrong. It still was.

Aside from all other concerns, there had also been all the worries about how many others he could not protect, if he was busy protecting a wife. No, he could not permit himself that kind of loving relationship until after his brother stopped killing... no matter who offered, or how much he craved it.

Vash had a responsibility that he could not turn his back on. Martha had the blessing of someone nearby who loved her in exactly the way that she craved. If he got out of the way, perhaps she would finally see and recognize the one who was already there for her.

He had refused Martha as gently as possible, but it had still hurt her. He'd never meant to hurt her. The fact that he had hurt her, in spite of his best efforts, grieved him greatly... both then and now, as the memories continued returning.

He'd left the village that day by way of Fred's house.

"I won't be coming back," Vash had told him apologetically. "If I did, it would only hurt Martha. She said something today that tells me she completely misunderstood our friendship. I don't want to cause her any more pain than I have already."

"Do you mean that you're not... that is," Fred said, blushing and looking down, "she, uh, well... she seems pretty keen about you. I can't do anything for her that would compare to giving her that new hand and foot."

"There are things that I have to do," Vash had said sadly. "I can't stay. Not now. Not with her, nor with anyone else. I thought I'd made that clear to her, the first time I was here. I never meant to hurt her."

Vash had shaken his head, and sighed. "Besides it couldn't work, even if I were to try," he added. "She will be far better off if someone else comes far enough into her life to take care of her. She needs someone who loves her romantically, too, and not only as a friend. I can't be that person, Fred."

Fred had nodded quietly. "Safe journeys to you, then," he had said. "You've been a good friend to everyone in this town. Better than we deserved, especially after the way that some of us treated you. I hope you've forgiven us?"

"Yes," Vash had said. "Your town's young 'good Samaritan,' and the ladies who brought us food, have paid off that debt."

Fred smiled. "Martha is amazing, isn't she?" he had said, his whole heart in his voice.

Vash had smiled and clapped Fred on his shoulder. "I'm not the one who needs to hear you say that," he had said.

Fred had blushed deeply, from his neck to his hair to his ears. "I know," he had said, very softly. "I'm trying."

"Good," Vash had said. "Now I really must go. Take good care of yourself. And, if she'll let you, please take good care of Martha, too."

"I will," Fred had said.

That had been nine years ago. Yet it had taken Fred five more years before he married her... two years after the loss of July and 14 years after Vash had become known to that village as "The Second Man." Why had it taken so long? Could it be that it had it taken the destruction of July for Martha to realize that he would never again return there?

Vash was glad that neither Martha nor Fred was alone anymore. He believed that they could be happy together, and he sincerely hoped that they would be.

It still seemed a little unreal that Martha had named her daughter "Vashelle." That idea would take some getting used to.

Vash felt a little heat in his face, and looked down to discover the half-eaten doughnut still waiting in his hand. He mended that oversight immediately. This doughnut wasn't as good as the ones made by Mrs. Epstein, all those years ago, but it was still a doughnut!

He looked at Milly, still happily chattering away, and smiled slightly.

'Milly's a good girl, too,' he thought to himself. 'She's a lot like her aunt, and not just in appearance. Thankfully, Milly doesn't bear a heavy burden of physical and emotional pain, like the pain that had forced her aunt to grow mature beyond her years.'

With his last doughnut finished, Vash reached again for his milk. He paused, briefly, before drinking any of it.

During that brief pause, Vash's heart toasted his friends, Martha and Fred. He hoped that all would go well with them, and with their children. It was almost a prayer.

'Is God listening?' he wondered. Vash had no objection if God was listening, especially if it resulted in Him looking favorably upon Martha and Fred. 'If you are, then … Please, take care of them.'

With those thoughts in mind, he drank every drop in the glass.

As Vash set the glass back onto the table, he glanced out the window again. He pictured Martha's face in his mind, and remembered their farewell hug.

'Be safe, happy and well, dear Martha,' he thought. 'And... thank you.'

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Author's Note

Since I have been asked, inspirations for this story include (in no particular order):

- Trigun and Trigun Maximum

- A very old black-and-white "Western" film. It began showing the hero of the story arriving at the scene of a massacre... too late to save anyone. He began looking for survivors. He was discovered by the local people, while he was checking various deceased wrists in hopes of finding a pulse. As a stranger in the area, he was immediately (and erroneously) blamed for the heinous crime.

- "The Parable of the Good Samaritan" found in Luke chapter 10 verses 29-37. I wondered how someone might practice those principles on "No Man's Land" (or "Gunsmoke," as some call it). In "The Second Man," there are two who could qualify as "Good Samaritans" ... although each of them only recognizes those qualities in the other.

- Two years spent in an area where cowboys still round up their cattle on horseback.

- Years lived near a small farming town with quirky electrical connections, resulting in frequent power outages.

- A teacher whose left hand was withered, because of an accident that severed the nerve of his arm approximately a decade before he came to teach at the school where I attended. I watched him with admiration, every day, as he had to live with (and work around) having a non-functional withered hand. I saw how it looked, how the circulation was imperfect, and how he had to be careful to keep it adequately warm... partly to avoid it becoming diseased, or damaged, in a manner that would require amputation.

- Years after encountering the one-handed teacher, an injury forced me to deal with a non-functional hand and foot. I had to limp, and work around having only one functional hand, for a number of months. Recalling how my former instructor had handled such matters helped me to get through those difficult times.

I hope the resulting story provides enjoyment, at least, to all who read it. :)