"Vash—where's Kira?" Knives asked again after a moment of silence. Fear took hold as the question hung in the air, still unanswered. His brother wouldn't even meet his eyes. "Vash?" he entreated, pleading for some kind of explanation—something that would put his concern to rest. Surely he was worrying for nothing.
"We'll talk about this later," he responded stiffly.
"Vash! Where is she?"
A tear rolled down his brother's cheek and he finally looked up. "She's gone." Millie and Meryl gasped.
No. He couldn't mean… It wasn't possible. "Explain."
"Knives, we need to find a place to—"
"Explain!" he barked. He didn't give a damn about finding somewhere to hide right now. He needed fucking answers!
Vash dropped his gaze. "The soldiers came for us. We tried to escape, but she…" His face suddenly crumpled, his shoulders shaking. "She was shot… She didn't make it."
The world abruptly fell away. Vash's sobs, the two women doing their best to soothe him while glancing over at Knives nervously, the faint, distant thrum of life in the city—all of it disappeared into a hollow, empty haze. Even his breathing stopped as he struggled with how to react to the devastating words. An overwhelming jumble of emotions churned within him, battling for control, until comforting, familiar anger finally took charge, slamming the others back down into the depths of his psyche.
"Where were you?" he growled savagely. "Where the hell were you?"
"I was there," Vash choked out, an apology written across his weary, tear-streaked face. "We were running… It happened so fast. I tried to save her, but—"
"You were there," he repeated, the little control that he had slipping away from him. "You were there! Why didn't you protect her?" he roared, letting his rage spew forth. "I left her with you! I trusted you to take care of her! How could you let this happen?"
"Knives," Meryl said, her voice walking a fine line between sympathy and reprimand. "It wasn't his fault."
"Do not speak, you filthy creature," he snarled, his unbridled ferocity making her step back.
"Knives!" Vash said sharply, wiping his eyes, his face growing serious. "Don't. If you're angry, take it out on me, not them."
"Fine!" he shouted, baring his teeth, a final surge of fury effectively overpowering his ability to think rationally. He ran forward, tackling his brother to the ground with a thud, and began raining blows down on him. It took a few moments for him to realize Vash wasn't striking back. He wasn't even defending himself. Knives' vicious attack abruptly stopped, his breathing ragged and uneven as his protective shield of anger was dismantled and the depth of his loss returned to swallow him up.
He climbed to his feet, his movements unsteady, and began walking aimlessly down the street. This couldn't be real. This couldn't… She couldn't be gone. He wouldn't accept it. He knew her life would end. He knew it, but not like this! Not now! Not when she was finally his…
It was too much. A crushing numbness overtook him. He didn't even notice that his legs had stopped moving. He wasn't aware that he'd fallen to his knees and was now staring blankly into the sand.
Someone knelt beside him.
"Knives… I know it hurts, but we can't stay here," Vash said softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You have to get up."
He looked over dazedly, only half-hearing the words. Vash's eye was swelling rapidly shut and his nose was bleeding. "I'm sorry," Knives murmured, apologizing for what felt like the millionth wrong he'd committed against his brother. The sharp guilt at his unwarranted attack pained him for the briefest moment, but it was soon dulled like everything else. There was simply too much emotion coursing through him. His mind had done the only thing it could—it disconnected, refusing to feel anything at all.
"It's fine. Can you stand?"
Could he… stand…? Right. They needed to keep going. Knives forced himself to get up.
"That's good," Vash said, grabbing his arm. "That's really good. Let's go," he called to the others, taking a step forward and dragging Knives along with him.
The blue-eyed plant followed without a word, focusing on his physical experience—the pressure of Vash's hand on his arm, the scent of sunbaked clay coming off of the closely packed buildings lining the empty street, the rhythmic hammering of their footsteps as they jogged. He needed to keep himself distracted until they got to wherever they were going. He couldn't let himself think. Not about… Not yet.
x.x.x.x.x
As Meryl had predicted, the north end of December was still relatively empty. It didn't take long for them to find a place to stay for the night. As soon as they had locked the door, the raven-haired reporter pulled out her sat-phone to update Chronica. She had briefed the blond plant on the situation as they made their way through the city, and warned her not to return to the inn, but she needed to give the woman their current location and discuss their next move.
Millie watched her friend disappear into an empty room and turned to Vash. "We should see if we can find a first aid kit or something so we can clean up your injuries," she said, a fretful expression on her usually cheerful face.
Vash glanced down at the brownish red stain in the fabric of his shirt. "Right." He looked over as Knives worriedly. "Um… do you want to help us look?"
"I think I'd like to be alone for a bit," Knives answered, his voice leaden.
"Okay. I'll come find you when we're done," he said gently.
Knives nodded and turned away from them, wandering into the small house, searching for a place to lie down. He'd nearly forgotten about the 'miracle' of his restored sight. Being able to explore like this sparked a tiny flicker of happiness inside of him, but it was immediately snuffed out as he realized that he would never see the thing he most wanted to. He'd never again be able to watch a few errant strands of Kira's hair being tousled by a breeze, or her gray eyes sparkling as she laughed, or her lips curving into a teasing smirk…
He found a bedroom on the second floor and flopped backwards onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling. His right hand instinctively went to his forearm, but Vash's body armor prevented him from running his fingers over the scars there. His stupid fucking scars… Kira would never again press her lips to them, inadvertently flooding him with so much warmth and gratitude and love…
She'd never kiss any part of him again. Or touch him. Or speak to him. Or sleep beside him…
Before he could stop it, a tear rolled down his temple. It was soon followed by another, and another. He closed his eyes tightly, but it did no good. They kept coming, and he finally gave in, accepting them, letting them fall.
He wished she were here to comfort him, to wrap her arms around him, to soothe him in the way that only she could. Why…? Why did this happen? He knew she wouldn't be with him forever, but did she have to leave so soon? Was this some kind of divine punishment—some karmic retribution?
He wished he could have said goodbye. Their parting that morning had been so peripheral—so insignificant. He hadn't even kissed her. He'd been too preoccupied with his visit to the angels. He didn't know… he never expected…
And now she was gone. Just… gone.
No…
No, not 'gone.'
Taken.
Kira had been taken. The Federation had ripped her away from him. They were responsible. And he would make them pay. His fists clenched shut, his hands trembling and his breath picking up. He would make them all pay!
He would…!
He… He'd…
"Hey," Vash called out softly, peeking his head into the room and interrupting the conflicted stream of thought. "You want some company?"
Knives sat up, quickly wiping away his tears. "Sure."
"So… it looks like your trip to the angels was a success," he said in a rather glaring attempt to lighten the mood.
"Yes," he answered flatly. He didn't exactly feel like celebrating.
Vash walked over and sat beside him, his newly applied bandages visible under his loosely buttoned shirt. He had washed the blood from his face as well, though it would take a while for the bruising and swelling to go down.
"Sorry again," Knives mumbled, "about…" He gestured.
Vash stared down at the floor. "Oh. Right… It's fine."
Knives grimaced, his disgust with himself building. "It's not 'fine.' It's never been 'fine!' It's… it's fucking pathetic! I shouldn't have gone after you like that. And you shouldn't forgive me! Why do you keep forgiving me?"
Vash gave him a concerned look and he realized he probably sounded as lost and desperate as he felt.
Still. He couldn't stop the impassioned words tumbling from his lips. "Really, Vash. I don't understand it. Why haven't you given up on me? You must have realized I'm a lost cause by now! I will never be who you want me to be—who I should be! Do you want to know what I was thinking about when you came in here? I was thinking about how to destroy every single person in the fucking Federation. I was thinking about how to get revenge for what they did! That's who I am! You may as well put a bullet in my head now, because you'll have to do it eventually—"
"Knives." Vash's voice was stern, but not unkind. "Just stop talking and listen for once. I don't condone what you did to me. I don't condone any of the things you've done. And yeah, I want you to change—to learn how to deal with things calmly and peacefully… or nonviolently, at least. But I'm not stupid. I know you're gonna mess up sometimes."
"Then… then why? Why don't you just do the world a favor and put me out of my misery?"
"Because I believe in you. I really believe you want to change. Don't you…?"
"I…" It was surprisingly easy to answer. "I do. But… it's so hard. I don't know what to do—how I'm supposed to… She's gone, Vash! I can't let them get away with it! They deserve to die," he hissed. "She deserves justice!"
"Do you really think that's what she'd want?" Vash said, his voice barely louder than a whisper.
His words hit Knives like a punch to the gut.
No. Of course not.
He took a slow, deep breath, trying to calm himself. She wouldn't want any of that. He couldn't desecrate her like that. He couldn't use her as another emblem, another excuse for his brutality, like Tessla. She had fought for him—for his right to atone, to move past his crimes. She believed in him. She trusted him not to hurt people again. If he went after them, he'd be letting her down. He couldn't do it…
Knives shook his head in answer to Vash's question and looked up at him despairingly. "What am I supposed to do…? It hurts so much."
"I know… and it's gonna be hard. But I'll be here to help you through it, okay? If you need anything, come to me… Even if you just need a temporary punching bag."
Knives grimaced again. "I'm really sorry."
"I forgive you. And… I'm sorry too, you know. I really am—for letting this happen." His encouraging tone faltered as his grief came to the surface.
"It wasn't your fault. I shouldn't have blamed you."
"I don't know," Vash murmured, staring down at his clasped hands. "Maybe I should have stayed closer to her. And after she was hit… maybe, if I hadn't been so distracted… if I'd noticed how fast she was bleeding…" His knuckles were white. He let out a shaking breath. "I think… I wonder if… if I had focused on saving her, instead of trying to get us out of there… I wonder if she'd still be here now."
Knives swallowed, trying to ease the growing lump in his throat. "If you had, you both would have been captured… or killed. So would Meryl, Millie and I. We're safe because of you."
He nodded slowly. "I guess… Kira kept telling me to leave." He lifted his eyes. "She asked me to protect you. And she wanted me to tell you that she was sorry."
Another deluge of tears began spilling down Knives' cheeks, and he put a hand up, shielding his eyes. He felt an arm around his shoulders and he couldn't contain a choked sob. He wasn't sure how long they sat like that with Vash offering what comfort he could, before a hesitant voice cut through the moment.
"Um… hey." Meryl stood in the doorway. "Sorry to bother you, but Chronica's here… and she brought a doctor with her."
x.x.x.x.x
"He's from the Federation," Knives said, not even bothering to mask the hostility in his voice as they met Chronica and her 'guest' in the living room. He may have decided not to wage another war, but his animosity toward the bastards wouldn't die so easily. The gray-haired man shifted uncomfortably, looking down at his telltale uniform.
"I see your sight has returned," the blond plant muttered dryly. "Michaels was one of the medics on my ship. I've known him for years—we can trust him. Meryl did say we needed a doctor," she finished coolly.
"Chronica has informed me of your situation, and I can assure you, I won't say a word to anyone," the man stammered in his own defense, licking his lips nervously and adjusting his grip on the medical satchel in his hands. "She said there was a gunfight and someone was injured…?" He glanced over at Vash as he spoke, obviously noting his battered appearance.
"I did what I could," Millie said anxiously, "but there's still a bullet in his shoulder. I didn't want to make it worse trying to get it out."
The doc offered a polite smile. "Well, I should be able to help with that."
Vash inclined his head. "I'd appreciate it."
"Knives," Chronica said, drawing him away from the others and making her way to a bag set haphazardly beside the front door. "I brought some clothes for you and Vash. Meryl mentioned you two might attract too much attention dressed as you are now."
He couldn't argue with that. He looked like Vash, and Vash looked like hell. Someone was bound to take notice. Chronica pulled out a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of loose fabric pants, handing them to him.
"It's athletic gear. I thought these would be more forgiving if the size wasn't quite right. I'm sure you'll love the design," she said with a small smirk.
He unfolded them and was greeted with the Federation's logo emblazoned across the front of the shirt. Great. Still… as much as he hated being branded as a member of the Federation, it was a kind gesture. He murmured a thanks and left to get changed.
x.x.x.x.x
He was grateful to get out of Vash's iconic costume. Though the body armor and coat were more comfortable than he expected, he felt strange wearing them. It was a good disguise, but he was ready to be himself again. The clothing from Chronica fit well enough, and, after raking a hand roughly through his hair a few times, undoing the 'broomstick' style, he returned to the others.
The doc had given Vash a local anesthetic and was working on carefully digging into the plant's arm, an armada of tools spread out on the dining room table beside him. Millie and Meryl sat across from them, offering their mute support, while Chronica sat near the window, staring out over the city. Knives carefully folded Vash's clothes and pushed them into the blond's bag before taking a seat across from her.
"I'm sorry about Kira," she said, fixing her gaze on him.
He felt the lump form in his throat again, and nodded.
"You were there, right?" she said, turning to Vash who was making a face as the doc pulled a metal slug from his shoulder.
"Yeah," he said, as the doc pressed gauze firmly to the once again bleeding wound.
"What happened?" she asked, her voice gentler than normal.
He cast a quick glance at Knives before answering. "Some soldiers came to our room. We had to jump out of the damn window. They chased us through the streets and she… got caught in the crossfire. They hit her in the stomach and she… she bled out before I could…" He let out a shuddering breath. "I'm still not sure how the assholes found us."
"The entire city knows you're here. Apparently the men and women overseeing the dome wanted to share the exciting news about your visit with everyone," Chronica muttered.
"Yes, we experienced the crowd of adoring fans firsthand," Meryl added.
"Unfortunately, the Federation forces in the city also got wind of it. And, you'll never guess who's men are here, 'generously' helping to oversee the angels' transition," she said with a scowl.
Vash glanced down, wrinkling his nose again as the doc began disinfecting his shoulder, before returning his gaze to the blond. "I wondered. So the soldiers who came after us—"
"Were Garrow's, yes," she confirmed. "I'm sure it wasn't that hard to figure out exactly which inn you were staying at. Dammit! I should have seen this coming," she snapped, in a surprising display of self-reproach. "Of course he'd anticipate that Knives would go to the angels."
Knives felt another wave a molten fury surge through him, and barely managed to stop himself from driving his fist into the table. Garrow. Was revenge against a single person out of the question…?
Chronica seemed to notice him seething and gave him a sympathetic look. "If it makes you feel any better, my commander finally got hold of the records of the criminals who were taken in. He also found the coroner who has been falsifying the death certificates and the man agreed to testify. We're ready to make our first move."
It in no way made up for what had happened, but at least the bastard would finally get some kind of comeuppance. "When?" he asked.
"We will be raiding the criminal facility tomorrow. Unfortunately, Garrow has been clever about keeping his technicians' identities a secret. They've been operating unofficially, which means we'll need to take them into custody directly if we want to pin this on them. We'll trap as many of them together as we can and hopefully the ones we catch will give up the rest. Once we have them, we'll be able to put someone in place to assess the state of the prisoners and take proper care of them."
"Tomorrow! B-but, I need to be there to cover it," Meryl sputtered. "Millie and I both!"
"I'm taking one of the military shuttles back with a few of our other allies tonight. You're welcome join me if you like."
Meryl perked up immediately. "That would be amazing!"
"What about Garrow himself? When will you go after him?" Knives asked.
"Unfortunately, our evidence doesn't incriminate him specifically, but, again, we're hoping that whoever we get tomorrow is willing to cut a deal for a lighter sentence. They'll give him up—don't worry."
"Is there any way I can help?" Knives asked.
Chronica surveyed him carefully before letting out a short breath. "Honestly, I think it would be best if you stayed out of it for now. I've only told Michaels and my commander about you, and even if you disguise yourself again, your presence will be distracting, at best. But I'll let you know if there's anything you can do."
The blue-eyed plant gave a resigned nod. He wished he could be at the forefront of the action, but she was right—it was impractical. Besides, if he joined the fight, his emotions would likely get the better of him. His personal vendetta wasn't important. All that mattered was stopping the bastards.
x.x.x.x.x
Now that his shoulder was cleanly wrapped, Chronica gave Vash some clothing to change into as the doc was packed up his supplies. Knives watched the man inquisitively while he toyed with an idea.
"You," he finally called out a moment after the doc had shut the clasp on his satchel.
The man froze, his face going pale, and Chronica arched a brow. "Michaels," she supplied.
"Michaels," Knives repeated. "Can you do something about this?" He tapped the collar.
The doc looked over to Chronica, not willing to unleash Knives without a second opinion. She pursed her lips and set her gaze on the blue-eyed plant. "You understand that you are not to go after Garrow, you are not to read or control the minds of anyone without their consent, and if you do anything against the Federation or the humans or anyone else, I will seek you out and take you down, yes?"
"Yes," he confirmed.
She stared at him for one final pondering moment before nodding. "Fine. Take it off him."
Michaels gave her a look of utter surprise before turning back to his new patient. "I, um… I only have a local anesthetic. It won't hurt, but I'll need you to stay completely still while I'm working."
"Very well."
The doc frowned. "Then… uh… well, usually we have a surgery table so we can position the head properly—"
"Just place me how you need me. I'm sure I can hold myself in position," Knives said dismissively.
The doc heaved a sigh and moved Knives so he was sitting with his back straight, with his head bent very slightly forward. "Now don't move," he said firmly. Knives felt the sharp prick of the needle as the doc began his work.
When Vash returned, he gave a short exclamation of surprise as he took a seat beside Meryl. "The collar?"
"That's right," Chronica answered, smiling wryly at him. "He's promised to remain on his best behavior—I trust you can make sure he sticks to it?"
"I can," Vash said, with a warm smile. "Thank you, Chronica," he said more seriously, "for everything, really. We owe you so much."
She looked away, a faint pink blush dusting her cheeks. "Yes, well… I'm only trying to rectify the situation." A sudden gravity came over her and a wrinkle appeared between her brows. "The Federation's not all like Garrow, you know. I'll admit, our goal is sometimes too broad, and may be painful for new civilizations to conform to, and there are times when innocent lives get caught in the middle of everything, but there are many among us who genuinely care about the people we encounter—who simply want to help new civilizations grow and flourish."
"I think we all realize that," Vash said with a glance at Knives. "And I think we're all hoping for a peaceful future once this is wrapped up."
"I'll make sure we find one," she said firmly. "And I'll make sure Garrow pays for what he's done."
The aqua-eyed plant nodded.
Silence descended and Chronica drummed her fingers on the table in an oddly restless display. After a moment, she looked up at Vash warily. "There is one more thing I need to ask you, and I'm sorry if this is upsetting to talk about, or to hear," she said, her eyes drifting over Knives for a moment, "but I must know—you said Kira bled out. Are you certain she was dead?" she asked, her voice low.
"She… she wasn't breathing," Vash answered haltingly and Meryl put her hand on his back, tender sympathy on her face.
"You didn't try to revive her?"
Vash winced. "No. But it wouldn't have helped. She was bleeding too quickly. I've seen enough bullet wounds to know how it would go. I would have needed to stop the bleeding, start her heart back up, give her a transfusion for the blood she lost, and then, somehow, repair the damage. And even then… It just—I didn't… It wasn't possible."
Chronica pursed her lips, her eyes narrowed. "I wonder… Michaels, what are your thoughts on the matter?"
The doc let out a grunt. "The soldiers do have some medical supplies and basic training, although this would likely be above their skill level. If the medics got to her fast enough…"
A sudden glimmer of hope sprang in Knives chest. "… Could they have saved her," he whispered.
The doc's movements paused. "They would have tried, but you shouldn't get your hopes up."
"But… she was losing blood so fast," Vash murmured. "It was just pooling around her—" He glanced up apologetically at the graphic description.
"No offense, but our gear is a little more sophisticated than what you're probably used to. Still, don't get your hopes up." His hands began moving again and Knives' mind began racing.
Maybe… if they could staunch the bleeding… if they could get her heart beating again… if…
His heart plummeted.
If they could save her, then she was in the Federation's hands.
x.x.x.x.x
The first thing she became aware of was a steady, metronomic beeping. The second was the smell—like chemicals. Kira cracked her eyes open and found herself in a stark white room. Her body felt heavy. Weak. Sitting was impossible. Even turning her head to look around was difficult. The room empty except for a few machines, some IV fluids, all of which she seemed to be hooked up to, and the bed she was lying in. What the hell…?
Vash. She had been waiting with Vash. And then… the soldiers had found them… and…
Oh!
Her eyes widened slightly.
Had that really happened?
She wanted to look at her stomach, but even lifting her arm was a trial. She let it drop. The dull ache coming from her abdomen seemed to confirm her memories, at least. She wondered how badly she'd been wounded. She thought she was going to die… Had Vash saved her?
A door creaked open, and she tried to lift her head so she could see her visitor, but after a moment, she gave up with a groan.
"Take it easy, little lady," came a kindly male voice. "Don't push yourself."
"W-what… what happened? Where am I?" Her voice came out in a croak.
"You're in one of our medical shuttles."
"Shuttle…? But, how did… I…?"
"From what I've heard, it's a miracle you're still alive. Your heart was stopped for a good ten minutes. Thankfully, my boys had enough brains to blast your insides with coag foam and give you CPR until the shuttle arrived. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here. Even then, it took the surgeons a good number of hours to get you patched back up. Well… sort of patched up. I don't expect you be out of that bed anytime soon."
What…? She tried again to lift her head so she could at least see the man she was talking to, but failed again.
"Come on, now. They dosed you pretty hard with those painkillers. You're gonna hurt yourself if you keep wiggling around. You need to relax." He took a few steps forward and she could finally see him—a broad-shouldered, clean-shaven man in a Federation uniform.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
He grinned, a wide, toothy, strangely disconcerting grin. "Tell you what—you give me your name, and I'll give you mine."
"Alex," she answered, giving him the first name that came to her mind. "My name is Alex."
He raised a brow. "Alex…? Hm. That's interesting. A few of my men coulda sworn your accomplice—Vash the Stampede, if my assumptions are correct—called you something different." His lips curled. "Maybe there's another name you sometimes go by? Something like… Kira? An uncommon name. A name that's not easy to forget." His eyes glinted coldly. "Would you like to guess my name, little lady?"
"… Garrow."
He nodded. "Good girl."