Chapter Ten

Okay, so I lied, no insurance girls in this chapter, they were edged out by the first remotely happy moment we've seen in a while. (Emphasis on 'remotely'.) That will make Certain Individuals pleased, I wager. I underwent a major bout of writers block smack dab in the middle of this chapter, so it may not be up to normal standards (I.E. Tomo escapes to the World Of Wolfwood Nightmares Where Internal Conflict Becomes Physical and Hopefully Remotely Interesting [TM]), though hopefully the last scene will make up for it. It was touch-and-go with inspiration for a while, I wonder if I'm losing my touch? o_o Um, what else - This song Reminds Me Of Wolfwood! It fits him well....


~Tomo Trillions (Because she is unworthy of Master's name, she takes a close subsitute)~
Who is rapidly feeling alarmed by the ammount of death threats being targeted at her person.





~~~~
Tied to the tracks and the train's just coming
Strapped to the wing with the engine running
You say that this wasn't in your plan
And don't mess around with the demolition man

Tied to a chair, the bomb is ticking
This situation was not of your picking
You say that this wasn't in your plan
And don't mess around with the demolition man

[Demolition Man - Sting]
~~~~


Wolfwood gritted his teeth and then sighed sharply as Vash's metallic elbow dug into his side, biting the flesh for a moment as the two walked and moved, the endless stretches of sand broadening to blue sky so bright it burned his eyes when he looked up, tried to breath. Something was crushing his lungs, pressing against his stomach and throat making each ragged gasp for air an experience of utter agony -

He wasn't sure how long they had been walking, or even if they were moving, or even where he was - at least two days, he supposed it had to have been - because as they moved together time seemed to blur into one long seamless stream of consciousness. Sun, moon, the light glinting off the orbs of massive power plants in the city in the dunes, hands helping him to his feet and pushing Vash ahead of them - salvation became smudged with everything else. Later he would remember the sound of Vash crying in the darkness, heavy with a combination of fear, hunger and injury, the salty tang of blood... Delirium, sweet and safe, where anything that slipped free of heated lips was chalked up to the tension of fever. Where nobody was held accountable for their slippery words Wolfwood could roll and cry and escape.

At some point there had been a sandstorm, Wolfwood could subconsciously remember - just barely - the intensity of grit in his cuts as he huddled over Vash's battered body, the blonde screaming into his ear to move, to shelter himself - and he had refused. Because... because why? Those fear-filled aquamarine eyes had destroyed his own thoughts of self-preservation and in a heartbeat he had borne burns and abrasions all for his companion, something the 'old' Nicholas D. Wolfwood - no, the old Chapel - would never have done. The cross punisher he had clung doggedly to as they traveled, refusing to relinquish his weapon even when curious villagers had appeared on the horizon, pointing to Vash and Wolfwood urgently as they staggered and fell together in the sand. Still gripping one another. Never letting go.

He had dreamed of the woman in the fields, of Vash - lots of Vash - and a nightmare occasionally, of Midvalley and Legato and Knives. They laughed at him, pushed him down and aside, making their way towards the one thing Wolfwood actually *cared* for in the world - Vash. And Wolfwood screamed his name, thrashing on his sticky pillow, biting his lip until blood filled his mouth and cool hands had to hold him down, wiping away the liquid, whispering sweetly into his ear. When Vash's voice had disappeared Wolfwood fell again at the mercy of the woman with long black hair, who picked through his barriers and mind without much thought at all, cupping her chin in one hand and playing with a strand of hair in the other as her words drove him to pieces again and again.

"Why did you carry him?"

"I didn't want to leave him."

"Why didn't you leave him?"
"I care for him."

Inquisitive, soft eyes. Mahogany, not unlike Midvalley's - though they held more innocence and brilliance that the saxophone player's ever had. "Why do you care for him?"

"I don't know, I don't know...."

Conversations went like that, sometimes it was Midvalley's accusing voice that filtered through the dimness, sometimes it was the black haired woman with the disarming smile - at all times though, Wolfwood had the distinct impression that *somone* was next to him, someone strong and someone who *did* care about him - it made it bearable to float through a sea of internal struggle. Knowing that someone waited....

The girl was at his side, looking sad, her liquid brown eyes full of hidden agonies as they walked together on the sunny pathway. Reminded of Vash, Wolfwood stopped in his tracks on the dusty road and looked down at the shorter woman in puzzlement. "What?" he asked sharply, making her blink at the biting tone in his voice. "What's wrong with you?"

He was favored with a weak smile as the girl brushed hair out of her eyes with a slender hand, nails trailing along her own flesh. "I just dislike death in any form, sir."

Wolfwood laughed a bit harshly and looked up, regarding the landscape around them with a smirk. "There's no death here," he muttered, preparing to move again.

The words were soft. "You're dying."

"Bullshit," the priest drawled, staring at the woman through ebony bangs. Why would he ever believe that? "I've never felt better. I'm in a beautiful place with a beautiful woman," he added almost teasingly, and was a bit annoyed to see that she didn't even bat an eye at his tone. "And I've been dying since the day I was born."

"At the end of this path there is nothing... If you go there, you will be in my company for much longer than you believe." The woman stared levelly, lips pressed together in an almost sulking expression, full and worried. "As lonely as I am...others need you."

"Why are you warning me? I thought Death was supposed to hunt it's victims," Wolfwood murmered, though he paused none the less, scanning the area with roving thundercloud eyes once more. It was true, he reflected after a moment, that he felt drawn down that path lined with softly waving grasses, golden spun beneath the sun..... One sun. Where was he?

"Home." the girl told him, reading his mind and then speaking again. "I'm not death, I'm just caught between," the woman shrugged, and her voice took on a more biting tone - was it Wolfwood's imagination, or did the wind pick up and begin scattering the golden leaves across the path before him, sending them dancing and skirting the trail's edges? "And you have someone waiting for you, I can't bear to see a heart broken because you don't have the strength of will to turn around and walk back the way you came."

Wolfwood's mind seemed to catch on the words and replay them again and again. "A.... heart.... broken.... Whose?"

A faint smile, and she left his side, turning her back to him. The woman had the figure of a mother, a patient figure, with strong shoulders and gentle curves, a warm, soothing, comforting figure. Wolfwood reached out a hand, startled as she seemed to almost-fade, the blue of the sky licking at her gold-edged figure. "You know who I mean."

"Who?!" He demanded, taking a step forward and away from the path. The grass seemed to deepen around him, making passage so difficult that he nearly fell to his knees - and suddenly the road seemed less innocent and more demanding, almost frightening, lonely, and still the color of straw, the color of *his* hair- "Vash?" he continued, begging for an answer. He *needed* this woman to tell him this, needed to know if Vash really...really...

"I don't love him!" Wolfwood shouted, the vines around his wrists tightening and squeezing until he could barely feel his fingers and his legs seemed stiff beneath him. "I DON'T!"

She paused. "Then...with nothing to love, you will surely die... Chapel. And so will he."

The priest gritted his teeth at the name, narrowing his eyes and plunging one hand forward into the wall of grass before him, groping for a feel of her legs and missing completely. He had to find her, because she knew *something* and he had to find out what. "VASH! Tell me about him!"

No response. Wolfwood tore out a handful of gold, the spikes slicing against his fingertips and sending droplets splattering to the ground below. He ignored them until they began pooling and pooling at his feet, dying the grass a sickly shade of red - and it spread outwards, radiating from his body in magnifying ripples that seemed to go on forever. In moments he was ankle-deep in the flowing crimson. "VASH!"

The gold seemed like a dream now, as Wolfwood fought for purchase in the slick red pool, slipping downwards until he was up to his neck, and then there was nothing beneath him and he was paddling desperately after the woman, who's steps formed tiny ripples on the surface of the lake -

"You will surely die, Chapel, and so will he-"

Spitting out a mouthful of crimson, Wolfwood began stroking forwards, the feeling of water surrounding him more than a little terrifying to the man - water was alien, and he couldn't swim - he was sinking, drowning, dying....

Wolfwood choked back a sob as liquid filled his lungs and bubbled through his nose and mouth, his strength giving way as the surface of the water slurped around his fingertips, pulling him downwards. For a moment a flash of golden aquamarine passed through his mind, and then -

~~~~
I'm a walking nightmare, an arsenal of doom
I kill conversation as I walk into the room
I'm a three line whip
I'm the sort of thing they ban
I'm a walking disaster
I'm a demolition man
~~~~

"Ah, you're up at last!"

Memories, half dreamed and half real, of Vash's arms looped around his neck, Vash falling backwards off the cliff, Wolfwood climbing until he felt ready to die right there on the side of the precipice, his arms and legs burning and twisting and aching, the blood -

"Who-"

Someone pressed a cloth across his eyes as the priest registered that the voice was not familiar and tensed up suspiciously. "Shh, lay back and don't try to move. Your fever has broken but your vision is very sensitive. Don't open your eyes, alright?"

Another moment and a cup was at his lips. "Drink." Wolfwood obeyed and swallowed the cool, slightly minty liquid, sighing softly as it filled his almost painfully empty stomach. "More."

After another cup and a half, Wolfwood felt that if he drank anymore he would probably be sick - and sensing that, the girl (the voice was definitely female) didn't offer him anymore, but let him talk, his voice cracking as he struggled to speak.

"Where's-"

"Ericks?" Wolfwood frowned at the name until he placed it as one of Vash's favorite alter-egos, one he had used before. With a slight frown, he nodded, and listened as the woman moved around the room, her clothing rustling softly. "He's taken a job downstairs to pay for your bills."

"Bills?"

"You've been sick quite a while," the girl sounded amused, though eager to talk. Wolfwood judged that she was not very old, and wondered what sort of lies Vash had told to get him here - he would have to be careful with what he said. "Two weeks on and off now."

"Two weeks?!"

"Yeah! Ericks brought you in and told us all about your bike accident and how he had to carry you all the way here - you're lucky to have a partner like that, you know. Not many people would haul someone through the sands, even if they *were* cousins!"

Wolfwood started to nod and heard a squeak of dismay as the girl jumped to her feet. "Hey, careful! If that pack slips you could be blinded - The fever does that to people sometimes. You have to be really careful, or else I'll have to find some way to keep your head from moving."

"Who are you?"

She sounded pleased that he had asked, and Wolfwood smiled faintly - with a voice as young as hers, he felt immediately inclined towards the girl, and perversely hoped she was pretty. "My names Via," she said. "My uncle owns this hotel, and my dad used to be a doctor here in town, but he passed on last year and I took up his place."

Hm. Wolfwood tried wiggling his fingers, only half-listening as the girl went on to talk about her little brothers and sisters and the town they were in - it was called Semana and was somewhere between Little Jersey and New Oregon. His hands moved and he could feel all of his toes, Wolfwood supposed he was in good enough shape - but he wouldn't bother moving the cloth over his eyes. "When will I be able to see again?" he asked quietly.

"Oh, keep it on for a few more days and we'll take it off at night for gradually longer periods of time to get you used to the light once more. It'll be a while before you can see full sunlight though."

Wolfwood grimaced, but took care to speak in his nicest tone of voice when requesting things. "Ah. Thank you, Via. I don't suppose you could find V....Ericks and have him come talk to me, could you?"

"Well, actually, Mister Nicholas....can I call you that?" Wolfwood murmured an affirmative ("Just Nicholas is fine...") and Via continued, "His shift will be over any minute now - "

"NICK!" Wolfwood felt himself smiling tiredly, as that voice could only belong to one person - for a moment he felt dizzy, then Vash's hands were against his arm, cool and soft without their leather gloves. "You're up! Are you alright, feel better? Via, his eyes - no? Of course! Thank you, kiddo, you've been a great help!"

"Don't call me kiddo, and I'm not done yet-" Wolfwood smiled faintly at the petulant tone, then he heard Vash murmur something and the girl shifted. "Oh. Yeah, sure...just watch his eyes and call me if you need something! And don't tire him out!"

The door clicked shut and Vash's tone abruptly became serious, dropping almost an octave and filling with fear. "Wolfwood, are you alright?"

"Yeah, 'm fine. What happened?"

"You passed out while trying to carry me here, so I took over."

"Your back..."

"Is fine. I told you it would be."

"That's impossible-"

"Evidently not." The bed creaked as Vash sat down, and Wolfwood inhaled, suddenly desperate for a cigarette. He couldn't smell the soft scent of leather and gunpowder that usually accompanied Vash, and supposed that maybe it *had* been two weeks, after all. It *would* take that much to get Vash smelling decent, he mentally noted with a smirk... "Wolfwood... I..." The words were almost hesitant, "Thank you."

The priest's fingers twitched. "Huh?"

"You... found me down at the bottom of the cliff. And stayed with me, and carried me... and..."

**And kissed you?** Wolfwood added mentally to the list, grimacing beneath the cloth that hid his expression from view. *That* he remembered, better than he would have liked to. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he keep himself from courting death?

"Why?"

Vash's question so obviously included his thought that for a moment Wolfwood wondered if he had spoken out loud. "I...wanted to."

A shifting of cloth and suddenly he could feel Vash's back pressed against his side, cool between the cloth and his sheets. "It's been...a long time since anyone's ever done that for me." Done what? Saved him, or kissed him? Wolfwood wasn't sure, but the lack of distinction made him nervous - he picked at the sheets with one hand. It hadn't been a dream - a nightmare - had it?

**Do not, under any circumstance, kiss him again,** he reminded himself. **Nicholas D. Wolfwood does *not* make slip-ups. Especially not where Vash is concerned, because he's too important to lose. As a *target* of course, I can't lose sight of my *target*..... Just control yourself, and-**

The warmth was closer to his arms now, and Wolfwood frowned slightly, feeling Vash reach out and place a hand on the cloth over his face. Instinctively he kept his eyes shut tightly, but the damp fabric was not removed. "Wolfwood...."

"Eeeeericks! He's still recovering!" A pounding on the door, then Via burst in - and in a heartbeat, Vash was on his feet, sounding completely amused.

"I was being good and careful, honest!" Vash complained, and Wolfwood found himself licking his lips, wondering what Vash had *almost* said. The unspoken words still hung heavily in the space between them, so close it was tempting -"I wouldn't hurt him-"

"He needs sleep, though. Here, Nicholas, drink this - " another cup to his lips, and Wolfwood drank obediently. Belatedly he realized that it *had* to have been drugged, because his mind immediately began slowing and churning to a stop. "Ericks, leave him alone, you can talk to him when he wakes up."

"May I stay in here?"

"If you're quiet..." Wolfwood felt himself drifting away, and for a moment he struggled, fearing the dreams would return. Someone's hands pressed across his eyes - the fingers were long and strong, like Vash's - and he felt sleep enclose him once more.

This time it was dreamless.

~~~~
You come to me like a moth to the flame
It's love you need but I don't play that game
'Cos you could be my greatest fan
But I'm nobody's friend
I'm a demolition man
~~~~

Another week, another seven days of sleep and warm broth, until Wolfwood could stay awake for stretches at a time, even hours on a good day. Via brought in a radio for him to listen to, and Vash frequented the room, talking to him or even just sitting on the bed, worrying the fabric with long fingers. Wolfwood knew the blonde had something to say, but had lost his nerve - and he was fine with that. If Vash gave in to whatever was bothering him, Wolfwood couldn't trust himself to stay distanced from the man, and if he got too close, death would undeniably find him.

**'"You will surely die, Chapel, and so will he-"'** What had that meant? Those damned words had been haunting him ever since he had woken from his delirium, though memories of the dream had long since faded completely from his mind.

"Via's out for the night," Vash told him softly, cutting into his thoughts. "She's tending to a birth on the other side of town."

"Ah," Wolfwood swallowed as Vash sat again next to the bed, his hands seeking through the cloth for something - there. After a moment Vash's hands closed over his, and there were gentle fingers caressing the palm of his hand, tickling softly as they traced the creases of his skin. "Vash?"

The fingers continued moving, pushing the folds of cloth away and revealing more of Wolfwood's skin. His touch was almost hesitant as it swept up to the priest's elbow and paused curiously, then disappeared.

"Vash, I want to sit up."

"What?"

Wolfwood raised himself onto his elbows and kept his eyes tightly closed. "It's dark, right?"

"Yes-"

"Via said I could try to see in the darkness soon enough. I want to sit up and look at you."

Vash seemed to think a moment, then responded with a voice that almost trembled - as if he wanted something. What?. "Wait. Let me turn off the lights and cover the window." He moved, shuffled through the room, and moments later was pressing another pillow between Wolfwood's spine and the head of the bed. When at last the priest was sitting, he lifted his hands and pulled the cloth from his eyes, squinting slightly as he did so.

At first there was nothing but blackness and shadows - encouraged, Wolfwood opened his eyes wider, and blinked, surprised that he could discern shadows and contrasts in the room. No shapes were obvious, and everything blended together, especially when he moved his head, but there was a bit of color. Enough that he felt he wouldn't go blind anytime soon, at least. "Does it hurt?" Vash asked, nervously.

"No. Come here." Wolfwood blinked as the words came out of their own accord. What was he doing? Even as Vash approached the bed he stared at the blonde, his flesh highlighted blue and soft cerulean - and something inside stirred, prowling to life until it was an uncontrollable urge. "Sit down, now."

Vash lowered himself to the bed, and Wolfwood shook his head, wincing as it induced a bit of dizziness - when that passed, he reached out and took Vash's shoulder with one hand. "Closer."

"Wolfwood-"

Something was tightening in his chest, and all Wolfwood could do was pull Vash closer, until his arms were on either side of the priest's waist - it was winding itself like a spring within him, come strange combination of need and anticipation and emotion. Nicholas whispered softly under his breath, urging the blonde on softly and pulling him closer, unable to dampen the raw urgency in his voice. "Come on, legs up - " and before either of them knew what had happened, Vash was sitting in Wolfwood's lap, his eyes round and wide, highly visible - if not a bit blurry - in the moonlight that filtered around the shuttered window.

"Better," Wolfwood hissed, and slid his arms around Vash's body, clasping his hands against the small of the blonde's back.

**Stop. Stop now. Stop right now, this is wrong, you're going to get killed, you're going to hurt him, you are NOT in love. Nicholas D. Wolfwood does NOT fall in love.**

Vash's body was not warm - it was almost unnaturally cool, like metal under the moons, and tasted slightly metallic to boot. Wolfwood pressed his mouth to the blonde's Adam's apple and breathed in softly, feeling Vash shift nervously at the contact, the soft body pressed against his own. "Nick- What are you doing?"

"...sssh.....let me see you..."

Wolfwood kissed his prize again, closing his eyes and ignoring the screaming voices of reason in the back of his mind. He didn't need such things, such rules and regulations, what he needed was those lips against his own, yielding and wet and open - to hell with the world. He had *this*.. They kissed again, and Wolfwood tangled his hands in soft blonde hair that had not been spiked for weeks, as Vash's arms looped around his shoulders, the cold of his touch welcome after so many nights of delirium. He tasted sweet, gentle - and as Vash opened before him Wolfwood poured himself into that kiss, feeling nothing but the soft pressure of lips and tongue, needing nothing else. It connected them. The kiss, unlike the words and games they played, unlike Wolfwood's identity and Vash's smile, was a complete and utter truth.

Breathless the priest pulled away and began unbuttoning Vash's shirt, eyes narrow in concentration, though his vision was so blurry that telling buttons apart from fabric became increasingly difficult. Once it was through, he slipped his hands against Vash's chest and lay his head back on the shivering shoulder, eyes closing.

He began touching, seeking then, as he had dreamed of doing for so long, exploring what he had only seen from afar at the most intimate level imaginable. Calloused fingertips pressed down the ridged scars and mapped out each marring of the perfect skin, committing it to memory. The scars were individual, and each one was weakness that Wolfwood was bringing to light in that musty room, his fingers charting the rough outcroppings of flesh and dipping into the puckered swells. Vash's reaction was tense at first, even frightened by the sudden intimacy, but a moment later he was relaxing, pressing closer as Wolfwood continued, murmuring softly under his breath.

There, across his breast, a metal grate, smooth and slick and frigid against his skin. Wolfwood probed, fingers detecting the tiny screws that held the smooth metal in place, fingering along the ruptured flesh along the outside, tough and dead tissue that had built up around the metal intrusion. His touch skittered along the thin, fine slash marks across Vash's stomach and the remnants of long-removed stitches that lined the wounds, then graced against the ragged slash trail across his other breast, measuring the depth with a knuckle and caressing bone within the valley of skin - Vash moaned and shivered against him, lips parted in surprise.

This was *Vash*. This was the being beneath the trench coat. Not quite human, not quite adult, not quite a child and not quite dead.

Blindly Wolfwood ran his hand down one good arm and one metal one, tasting a portion of each. The metal was curious, shaped in a mockery of a human limb and yet dreadfully wrong - and when he relinquished the fingers, both of Vash's hands came to rest on his shoulders, where they squeezed gently. "Wolfwood, you..."

His breath caught as the priest discovered the hard bolts in his back, spun a finger around them in a gentle loop and kissed the scar across his collarbone. The touch was curious and questioning and gentle.... Vash tilted his head back and buried his cheek in Wolfwood's hair, his breathing dancing along the curve of the priest's ears as he sought for purchase against the other man's bare chest. His motions confused, distracted, pained as if the mere touch was ripping open scarcely healed past wounds

Wolfwood found a span of smooth skin, pressed his palm there and held it for a moment, then tickled downwards across the edge of Vash's shoulder blades and to the small of his back. Paused for a moment in deliberation at his spine- go lower, or remain on that tantalizing portion of whole flesh? He knew Vash would let him possess him completely, but could he? Sex would damn him completely, it was the point from which he could never return...

He stayed, as tears dampened his neck and trailed down his shoulder. "Why are you crying?"

Vash's lips moved against his ear, and Wolfwood opened his eyes again, squinting and seeing nothing but blue-lilted gold. And tears. Too many. He closed his eyes again, and elected to simply hold Vash in the darkness, rather than stare at the pain in his eyes. "Why are you crying?"

The blonde buried his head against Wolfwood's shoulder, his fingers tightening fractionally around the taller man's body. "It hurts so much to love you."

Wolfwood curled Vash tighter against him and sighed softly into his hair. If he had been less jaded, he would have been crying - because he had failed at everything he had set out to do. How could he hurt the vulnerable man locked in his arms there in the darkness? Was there any hope of survival that didn't involve blood - or pain - shed by this one man? "Tongari.... I'm going to break your heart."

It was true. Unquestionable as the scars.

"I know," Vash whispered.

There was nothing more to say, though neither of them strayed from the other's arms until morning.

~~~~
I'm a walking nightmare, an arsenal of doom
I kill conversation as I walk into the room
I'm a three line whip
I'm the sort of thing they ban
I'm a walking disaster
I'm a demolition man
~~~~