Notes from Tomo:
^____^ I am *so* on a roll - I just sat down tonight and produced eight pages of trippy Wolfwood angst...I really like this chapter, it gave my shivers - a word of advice, good music to listen to while reading would be 'Sunlit Garden' from Utena down until Wolfwood starts dreaming, then put on 'Perfect Night', Legato's theme, and it's pretty creepy. Or at least it should be, as I was listening to that when I wrote it.
Now, I shall respond to reviews, something I should have done a loooooooong while ago.
Princess of Pain - AHAHAHAHA! I'm going to hold you to that promise. ) Start writing that sequel, oh master of comedy, and I promise this fic will go on for quiiiiite some time...
Hentai no Miko - ^____^ I appreciated your e-mail so much...I hope this chapter lives up to everything else. ^#^ Honestly now, I'm going to develop an ego if you're not careful.
Youji3KK - Thanks so much for the commentary on and off of the Trigun Yaoi mailing list. ^___^ You've reviewed most of my stories so kindly...
justareader - I know, I know. ^-~
Everyone else - ^####^ Saaaa-n-kyuuuu~
And now, the Fic!
~~~~
Everywhere I go I see your face
Every sound I hear is the sound of your voice
Why are you haunting me?
Why are you haunting me -
Why can't I let you go?
So everything about me is a lie
Or at least it seems that way
When I look into your eyes
The truth scares the shit out of me
[Haunting Me - Stabbing Westward]
~~~~
The girl's eyes were lowered, and she was worrying her lower lip with her teeth in an almost petulant expression, one that made Wolfwood instinctively want to hug her - she was so young, and bearing such a weight... Via wrung her hands and then flashed Vash and Wolfwood a weak smile, as if apologizing for her own emotions - it reminded the priest, oddly enough, of Vash. "Do you have to go? I don't think-"
Vash's hands were soft on her shoulders, and he smiled, a wry expression that was, despite it's carefully concealed bitterness, honest. "You know we do, Via." For a moment the silence was awkward, and then Vash's eyes filled with regret and the girl beside him buckled, landing in a pool of homespun cotton on the dusty road. The blonde went down next to her, his arms wrapped around her shoulders and stroking the small of her back with all the comfort he could manage.
Wolfwood smoked his cigarette.
The last few days had been long - and, Wolfwood privately admitted, he had utterly enjoyed them. Via was a smart girl, and once her patient had been able to see again, she had offered them the guest room in her already crowded home, where Wolfwood and Vash had taken up residence.
With five brothers and sisters, there had always been little people underfoot, and that had kept Wolfwood and Vash apart physically, but the priest was almost uncomfortable with the level of mental rapport he had achieved with Vash. After all, when one was chasing a target, it wasn't *right* to understand the way they moved or be able to predict little things - part of Wolfwood embraced that for the very fact that it *was* wrong, and sinful, and it made him feel so good to guess where delicious aquamarine orbs would fall next -
The children had been a blessing in the last few days. Wolfwood had always felt he performed better before an audience, and with five pairs of inquisitive eyes trained on his actions and words, the best had been brought to light. Wolfwood had returned to what he had left behind years before - a life of playing with children, complimenting them on the too-sugary tea they created in hopes of being praised, of throwing balls gentle enough that they could be caught with one hand and moving in *just the right way* to be struck by an errant tagging hand. And, Wolfwood noticed as Vash whispered a soft apology into Via's ear, he and the blonde had moved together then, too, as they did in their fighting - they knew, without glancing at one another, how to diffuse arguments between tired siblings in a house with too few adults and too little space.
They had kissed once, while bringing in buckets of water from the well outside the house. A clumsy peck on the cheek and a gentle squeeze of a shoulder - that was all. No touch. Nothing more than those eyes, trailing along his back...
Via was still crying, her cheeks puffy and red, and her brothers and sisters could be seen with their faces to the glass windows of the small cabin they inhabited. Yes, it had been nice to forget his mission for a few weeks - after all, Wolfwood had not been able to go out in full daylight and even now his eyes would get sore after a few hours behind his heavy black glasses... But having children around....
"Shh, it's alright, you'll be fine - "
"I want you to stay!"
"You're a big girl, Via," Vash had a way of speaking that made it feel like he knew your soul through and through - he kissed Via on her hairline and rocked her gently in the sand. "I know you're worried about your brothers and sisters... It's alright. You love them, and everything will be alright if you hold on to that!"
**How can he preach that?** Wolfwood wondered, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth against his cigarette. **After Knives, he believes in loving siblings like that? That's impossible. He had to be lying, nobody is that naive, that...forgiving-**
Even as he stared at Vash's figure, he knew that was not true. Because only *Vash* could love so much. Only Vash would believe something that had shoved his pride into the dirt and destroyed those he loved.
It made Wolfwood *very* angry.
Flicking his cigarette to the ground and stamping it out was an action that clearly read 'let's-get-the-hell-out-of-here', Wolfwood watched with a quirked scowl as Vash helped Via up again and brushed her hair back into place with a brotherly hand, then smiled winningly at her. The girl scrubbed at her eyes and looked guiltily up at Wolfwood - she had no idea was a falsity she was being fed. The priest clenched his fingers tightly at his side and smiled weakly, trying his best to dissipate the anger Vash's empty words had brought to mind. "....could..."
"Yes?" The priest asked softly, licking his lips.
"Could you at least tell me your real name before you go?" she was playing with her hands again, running a fingertip over the knuckles and looking up shyly, as if she was afraid of being reprimanded. "..So I know who I can remember?"
"You know my name, hon... Nicholas. Anything more than that would just hurt you," Wolfwood had no trouble saying that, though Vash's flinched over the girl's shoulder. **What, would he rather tell her who we are and make her a target? He of all people should know that lies are sometimes necessary!** The priest reached out and ruffled her hair with an ash-flecked hand, seeking out Vash's eyes with his own - nothing, the blonde looked away, hiding from the condemnation in Wolfwood's gaze. What did this girl have to grow up to? The thought snaked through his mind before he could blink, and Wolfwood's eyes narrowed slightly as he thought of the possibilities - Via would end up another poor child in the gutter, homeless - she would undoubtedly lose possession of her siblings once people realized how they were living. Prostitution? Probably. Drugs? Maybe. Liquor? Could be. Her life would darken and die, snuffed out like the stars in the morning's light - what could he say, knowing how she would end up? How could Vash promise her so much more, when desperately wanting something and never receiving it was worse than never hoping at all? They both knew the pain of that all too well...
"Good luck."
There was a difference between his goodbye and Vash's, a very key, subtle sort of separation that they all could feel, though not even Via could speak it out loud. Wolfwood was saying *goodbye.* He would never see her again, never play soccer with her little siblings - but Vash's was a so-long, a goodbye that promised a future meeting, full of hope. It was saying "Let's see where we are ten years down the line, let's see what has changed and what will be." Wolfwood's... well..
The priest turned and eyed the bike they had bought with the money Vash had earned serving tables, a cheap affair with a side cart and a sand-rusted engine. It probably wouldn't carry them further than New Oregon, but that was far enough, he supposed. Vash was not a planning man, and it neither was Wolfwood, and an amount of uncertainty made things more interesting - maybe that was why they dared to want each other so badly?
He reached for his helmet without a backwards glance.
~~~~
On their first night in New Oregon, they rented out a hotel room and hit the bars, getting comfortably smashed out of their minds for the first time in weeks. It felt good, Wolfwood reflected as they staggered back to their hotel (arms looped just a *little* to intimately around one another to be innocent) to forget oneself in alcohol after such an experience. Relief in a pretty brown bottle, that loosened the tongue and one's inhibitions. Warm.
They returned to the room together and stood in the doorway for a long moment before Vash pushed inwards and Wolfwood joined him at the table by the window.
More whiskey was produced, glasses poured, toasts raised until Vash had half-collapsed and Wolfwood had to drag him towards the single bed, ignoring the electricity a casual brush of Vash's sleepy fingers sent through his body, centering down his spine and making his hair stand on end. The blonde couldn't have noticed - his eyes were vague and his expression exhausted, cheeks ruddy with his drinking and raucous laughter - and Wolfwood absently ran a hand down his cheek. "Hold still," he told the blonde, and began undressing him.
The buttons came away beneath his fingers and Wolfwood smiled faintly as Vash shrugged his shoulders back like an obedient puppy, letting the cloth fall free and the scars feel the light of the low lamps. The priest folded the shirt and set to work on Vash's pants, pulling them down without another glance, smiling at the boxers - patterned with an arcane green four-leafed plant that Wolfwood had never seen growing anywhere. Hard to believe that Vash the Stampede wore something like that under his proud trench coat!
Of course, the coat had been missing for quite some time, but that was beside the point.
Vash was leaning gently against Wolfwood's shoulders, shoulders sagging with sleep, his breath whooshing softly between his parted lips. Reaching out, Nicholas D. ran his fingers into the mess of spiky gold and loosened them from their locked position at the top of his friend's head, letting them fall in a fluffy mass that was still slightly sticky from grease. Vash managed to murmur a little purr of appreciation before settling back against the covers, tucking one hand under his chin and throwing the other one across the pillow.
Why was it becoming so much easier to see the beauty in Vash than hate the innocence? Why were the obstacles between them disappearing like so much morning mist, though they remained as deadly and potent as ever? Was it Wolfwood's resolve that was weakening and breaking...?
Wolfwood returned to the window. He could feel a presence in the town that made him uneasy - it was almost like Legato, but weaker, less glaringly evil. It could be that the telepath was suppressing his powers - but why? And why would he be here of all people when his proximity threw Wolfwood in danger of letting some hint of his secret slip free?
He ran a finger around the rim of his bottle of liquor and thought long and hard, getting drunker and drunker as he did so, watching the scarred fifth moon rise over the dusty city-scape and cast a blood-red glow over the streets below, forming dancing, surreal patterns throughout the buildings.
At last he stripped off his jacket, his shirt, his shoes and socks and pulled on a pair of sweat pants, then crawled into bed next to Vash, who was cool and soft between the sheets next to him. The blonde's body seemed to almost absorb heat, so sweet was it - almost inhuman. Yes, inhuman. Wolfwood closed his eyes for a moment and then reached an arm out, tucking it over the rise of Vash's hips and letting it fall innocently against the sheets - Vash shifted, face turning upwards towards the heat of his bed mate - and Wolfwood smiled, pressing his face into the blonde's neck. Inhaling the delicate perfection-
He couldn't ruin this moment. He couldn't hurt this man. What a hell it was to live like this, so close and always so far, knowing that Vash would *have* him, that Vash even *loved* him, but... **I'm too dark. I'm too evil. I'm a tool of the one man that hates him for *who* he is and not just because he bears the name 'Vash the Stampede'... And no matter what I do I'll shatter his heart.**
If he told the truth, Vash would know he was merely a pawn of Knives, and would always question his honesty. Not to mention that Knives would probably make Wolfwood wish he had never been born... If the priest didn't tell, Vash would be rejected by the one person that knows him through and through, and that...that would hurt Vash so deeply it might never heal. Wolfwood couldn't bear being the source of one of the mental scars ingrained on Vash's gentle conscience. He *wouldn't* do that, of all things, leave Vash with another nightmare in the night... He wanted to be more than just another face, but... It was terrifying, what Legato could do, let alone Knives. It was terrifying to see the depth of the misery in Vash's eyes and know that he could alleviate some of that if he were only brave enough to try. It was terrible to know that no matter which way he turned, the glass he stood on was so delicately thin that cracks were already beginning to chip and grow and the world would soon, so very soon, fall away from beneath his feet...
Wolfwood had once been in a small town, one that had many books and even old scrolls from before the fall of the Seeds ships. In one of them he could remember reading a phrase and scoffing at it even then - 'It is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.'
That was sappy. That was the kind of crap Vash believed in. That was....completely untrue...
Wolfwood snuggled closer and wondered.
~~~~
Why are you haunting me?
Why are you haunting me?
Why are you haunting me?
Why are you haunting me?
Whoever said love is blood and love is real
Has never felt the way I feel
What does it matter?
What's done is done and I should
Get on with my life....
~~~~
The woman tilted her head and offered him a flower, a thin red thing with heart shaped leave that were ringed with darkness. Wolfwood took it, surprised - he had yet to see her with any sort of flowers, the land they stood in was nothing but pale waves of gold and skies of opalescent blue-green... "What's this?" He asked softly, surprised by the soft, almost fuzzy texture of the light green leaves, soft.... He had never known a flower was such a smooth, silky thing.
She smiled at him, the smile of a mother and a sister, and began to explain. Before a word could escape coral lips, though, the fabric of her shirt let out a resounding rip and burst forth - Wolfwood dropped the blossom and leapt to one side as a wave of liquid darkness exploded from her breast, then began pouring from her mouth and ears - it slithered and pooled in the golden grass, obliterating all. The skies darkened to the color of pitch, and Wolfwood caught only a glimpse of wide brown eyes before she disappeared completely in the coal colored night.
A long, pristine coat, a whisper in his ear, slithering through his brain and embracing the corners of his mind. Words that tempted and coiled like a snake, in a soft, disturbingly gentle tone, a voice like poisoned silk. "Hello, Nicholas D. Wolfwood."
Wolfwood stood as tall as he could, reaching for the cross that remained on his back at every moment and the security it promised - it was gone, devoured by the dark of his dream-turned-nightmare. The voice came again and a hand pressed against his shoulder, sending shivers of paranoia down his spine - the priest turned, and nobody was there, just the soft breeze and an amused laugh. "You have not reported in quite some time."
Another hand, against the small of his back - Wolfwood spun on one heel and came face to face with accusatory mahogany eyes, framed with dark hair. Midvalley cracked a slow, languid grin and met his gaze. "Chapel."
"Midvalley." So many things to say, so many questions to ask - "Why the hell are you depriving me of my sleep?" The priest demanded, scowling as Midvalley took a step back, his suit spotless and perfect.
This time the hand was on his shoulder, and a glowing pair of golden eyes filled the night. They were the same color as the fields Wolfwood had traveled in moments before, just before the black had overcome them - but sickly and twisted. Those eyes were not the gold of the sun, they were the gold of a forged blade, the gold of sand after it had been scored clean and smooth in the blasting winds of the desert - hands clawed down Wolfwood's shirt, though Legato didn't move.
**He's fucking with my mind,** he reminded himself. It was always this way.
"We need your report, Chapel." Legato spoke, and his hand curled possessively around Midvalley's shoulder, slipping down his arm and coming to a pause against the lapel of his suit.
The musician's expression was glazed. Scared, but at the same time almost hungry for a touch, for anything - Wolfwood felt dirty just witnessing such a look, and he glared hard, sending daggers of disgust towards Midvalley. Hadn't they always been together, against Legato and Knives? Hadn't they first become friends because they were kindred souls, moths trapped in the web of the spider - not good enough to be butterflies, but still able to fly?
The hand snaked lower, and Midvalley's lips parted, his expression flashing almost smug for a moment. Wolfwood spoke. "The target was injured in a sandworm attack. We loitered until he could heal and then moved on. I was wounded as well and we were cared for in the town of Mesa." Like he would ever tell Legato the real location of all those children...
Mental images were necessary, and Wolfwood steeled himself for the invasion of Legato's probing mind, slick with mental filth as it delved into his brain and pried out images. Vash falling. Vash hurt. Wolfwood's own injuries, the recovery - the priest clung to his moments with Vash doggedly and though Legato seemed suspicious, he did not insist on prying them from his mind.
And then he was left staggering and gasping as his mind was drained of the groping foreign touch and Legato pulled back. A long moment of silence, and Midvalley's eyes caught Wolfwood's own -
And suddenly, Wolfwood knew. Midvalley...
No. Impossible. It had never been love to him, a game, maybe even a convenient tool at times, but their relationship had never been love.
How could Midvalley...
Those chocolate eyes promised one thing, one resolution alone. They told Wolfwood that as he had found love in another, Midvalley would do the same. Twin pools of deep brown, a portal to a terrified soul that -
**Stop it, Midvalley,** Wolfwood wanted to scream as the musician tilted his head and let Legato set his chin against his soft neck. The telepath's eyes were slitted with satisfaction as he kissed Midvalley's skin once and then smiled broadly, flashing obscenely white teeth with a cat-like sigh. Disgusting, completely disgusting in his satisfaction with the knowledge that he was stealing something precious away from both the priest and the musician, that even if they saw one another again, after this nothing could be the same - **Let go of him. Punch him. Don't let him touch you....don't fucking let him touch you...**
The old Midvalley would have done that at such a touch, had done that each time the raping of his body and mind had occurred. Would have screamed, raised hell until Legato had either knocked him unconscious or given him something to bite against to quell the pain - The old Midvalley would have sworn. Would not have rolled back against the black-and-white contrast of the taller man's stark cloak. Would never have been a toy in a dream. Would not have...
"Midvalley," Wolfwood's voice was measured and strained, dangerously close to cracking. "Midvalley-"
"Please file your reports on time, Chapel," the musician whispered, eyes narrowing for a moment, just long enough for Wolfwood to realize the truth behind his broken will - broken heart, broken mind, broken - "We will not tolerate slacking."
Broken heart, broken will, broken mind, broken neck - Wolfwood fell backwards, reaching out, slipping through the darkness like the moon into clouds -
~~~~
He woke up. Sticky with sweat and shivering, but still, he was awake and for the moment away from Legato's mind games.
Wolfwood wanted to throw up, in fact - he rolled over and struggled to the edge of the bed, dry heaving as he went. All the liquor from early seemed to boil in his stomach as he broke into a sweat and pressed his forehead hard against the headboard of the bed in a vain attempt to distract himself from the nausea.
Midvalley had broken. That meant he was as good as dead - no, better *off* dead. Those eyes had been so accusing, he could almost hear the words - because they had been partners, they had been lovers, and now that Wolfwood had found solace elsewhere there was nobody for Midvalley to turn to...
Years it had been. Mental rape. Physical rape. Torture, that together they had borne, each for their own private reasons. The lowest degradations possible to a human, coupled with obscene words and treatment and the knowledge that it was impossible to *be* lower than they were, to be more sinful, more deadly. Wolfwood had borne it for the children. Midvalley...had reasons. Wolfwood had never known what, but when they were together it was possible to pretend that some portion of their souls was still human enough to rebel, and even if it was only two men swearing drunkenly for revenge after a long, hard day, it had been something that gaurded against the memories of probing fingers and mental laughter. Protection, safety in numbers - together. When Wolfwood had left, they had parted and there had been no sweet goodbyes or lingering kisses, just a handshake, firm and quick and simple. And a promise. 'I'll come back.'
And a response, too serious, too foreshadowing. 'No, you won't.'
They had known it wouldn't last. Both of them. They had always known it, and that was why Wolfwood had never let the chains around his heart go free - because love then and there was impossible and dangerous. Because he felt nothing for Midvalley.... appreciation of his views. His companionship, the love of a drinking partner, but it had been nothing more. Had it?
And now....
Midvalley had broken.
Wolfwood made a diving leap over Vash's figure and managed to make it to the bathroom before he was sick.
~~~~
Well I don't know what it is
But I can't seem to make myself forget
Was it something that you said
Or is it all the guilt inside my head
Why are you haunting me?
Why are you haunting me?
Why are you haunting me?
Why are you haunting me?
~~~~
^____^ I am *so* on a roll - I just sat down tonight and produced eight pages of trippy Wolfwood angst...I really like this chapter, it gave my shivers - a word of advice, good music to listen to while reading would be 'Sunlit Garden' from Utena down until Wolfwood starts dreaming, then put on 'Perfect Night', Legato's theme, and it's pretty creepy. Or at least it should be, as I was listening to that when I wrote it.
Now, I shall respond to reviews, something I should have done a loooooooong while ago.
Princess of Pain - AHAHAHAHA! I'm going to hold you to that promise. ) Start writing that sequel, oh master of comedy, and I promise this fic will go on for quiiiiite some time...
Hentai no Miko - ^____^ I appreciated your e-mail so much...I hope this chapter lives up to everything else. ^#^ Honestly now, I'm going to develop an ego if you're not careful.
Youji3KK - Thanks so much for the commentary on and off of the Trigun Yaoi mailing list. ^___^ You've reviewed most of my stories so kindly...
justareader - I know, I know. ^-~
Everyone else - ^####^ Saaaa-n-kyuuuu~
And now, the Fic!
~~~~
Everywhere I go I see your face
Every sound I hear is the sound of your voice
Why are you haunting me?
Why are you haunting me -
Why can't I let you go?
So everything about me is a lie
Or at least it seems that way
When I look into your eyes
The truth scares the shit out of me
[Haunting Me - Stabbing Westward]
~~~~
The girl's eyes were lowered, and she was worrying her lower lip with her teeth in an almost petulant expression, one that made Wolfwood instinctively want to hug her - she was so young, and bearing such a weight... Via wrung her hands and then flashed Vash and Wolfwood a weak smile, as if apologizing for her own emotions - it reminded the priest, oddly enough, of Vash. "Do you have to go? I don't think-"
Vash's hands were soft on her shoulders, and he smiled, a wry expression that was, despite it's carefully concealed bitterness, honest. "You know we do, Via." For a moment the silence was awkward, and then Vash's eyes filled with regret and the girl beside him buckled, landing in a pool of homespun cotton on the dusty road. The blonde went down next to her, his arms wrapped around her shoulders and stroking the small of her back with all the comfort he could manage.
Wolfwood smoked his cigarette.
The last few days had been long - and, Wolfwood privately admitted, he had utterly enjoyed them. Via was a smart girl, and once her patient had been able to see again, she had offered them the guest room in her already crowded home, where Wolfwood and Vash had taken up residence.
With five brothers and sisters, there had always been little people underfoot, and that had kept Wolfwood and Vash apart physically, but the priest was almost uncomfortable with the level of mental rapport he had achieved with Vash. After all, when one was chasing a target, it wasn't *right* to understand the way they moved or be able to predict little things - part of Wolfwood embraced that for the very fact that it *was* wrong, and sinful, and it made him feel so good to guess where delicious aquamarine orbs would fall next -
The children had been a blessing in the last few days. Wolfwood had always felt he performed better before an audience, and with five pairs of inquisitive eyes trained on his actions and words, the best had been brought to light. Wolfwood had returned to what he had left behind years before - a life of playing with children, complimenting them on the too-sugary tea they created in hopes of being praised, of throwing balls gentle enough that they could be caught with one hand and moving in *just the right way* to be struck by an errant tagging hand. And, Wolfwood noticed as Vash whispered a soft apology into Via's ear, he and the blonde had moved together then, too, as they did in their fighting - they knew, without glancing at one another, how to diffuse arguments between tired siblings in a house with too few adults and too little space.
They had kissed once, while bringing in buckets of water from the well outside the house. A clumsy peck on the cheek and a gentle squeeze of a shoulder - that was all. No touch. Nothing more than those eyes, trailing along his back...
Via was still crying, her cheeks puffy and red, and her brothers and sisters could be seen with their faces to the glass windows of the small cabin they inhabited. Yes, it had been nice to forget his mission for a few weeks - after all, Wolfwood had not been able to go out in full daylight and even now his eyes would get sore after a few hours behind his heavy black glasses... But having children around....
"Shh, it's alright, you'll be fine - "
"I want you to stay!"
"You're a big girl, Via," Vash had a way of speaking that made it feel like he knew your soul through and through - he kissed Via on her hairline and rocked her gently in the sand. "I know you're worried about your brothers and sisters... It's alright. You love them, and everything will be alright if you hold on to that!"
**How can he preach that?** Wolfwood wondered, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth against his cigarette. **After Knives, he believes in loving siblings like that? That's impossible. He had to be lying, nobody is that naive, that...forgiving-**
Even as he stared at Vash's figure, he knew that was not true. Because only *Vash* could love so much. Only Vash would believe something that had shoved his pride into the dirt and destroyed those he loved.
It made Wolfwood *very* angry.
Flicking his cigarette to the ground and stamping it out was an action that clearly read 'let's-get-the-hell-out-of-here', Wolfwood watched with a quirked scowl as Vash helped Via up again and brushed her hair back into place with a brotherly hand, then smiled winningly at her. The girl scrubbed at her eyes and looked guiltily up at Wolfwood - she had no idea was a falsity she was being fed. The priest clenched his fingers tightly at his side and smiled weakly, trying his best to dissipate the anger Vash's empty words had brought to mind. "....could..."
"Yes?" The priest asked softly, licking his lips.
"Could you at least tell me your real name before you go?" she was playing with her hands again, running a fingertip over the knuckles and looking up shyly, as if she was afraid of being reprimanded. "..So I know who I can remember?"
"You know my name, hon... Nicholas. Anything more than that would just hurt you," Wolfwood had no trouble saying that, though Vash's flinched over the girl's shoulder. **What, would he rather tell her who we are and make her a target? He of all people should know that lies are sometimes necessary!** The priest reached out and ruffled her hair with an ash-flecked hand, seeking out Vash's eyes with his own - nothing, the blonde looked away, hiding from the condemnation in Wolfwood's gaze. What did this girl have to grow up to? The thought snaked through his mind before he could blink, and Wolfwood's eyes narrowed slightly as he thought of the possibilities - Via would end up another poor child in the gutter, homeless - she would undoubtedly lose possession of her siblings once people realized how they were living. Prostitution? Probably. Drugs? Maybe. Liquor? Could be. Her life would darken and die, snuffed out like the stars in the morning's light - what could he say, knowing how she would end up? How could Vash promise her so much more, when desperately wanting something and never receiving it was worse than never hoping at all? They both knew the pain of that all too well...
"Good luck."
There was a difference between his goodbye and Vash's, a very key, subtle sort of separation that they all could feel, though not even Via could speak it out loud. Wolfwood was saying *goodbye.* He would never see her again, never play soccer with her little siblings - but Vash's was a so-long, a goodbye that promised a future meeting, full of hope. It was saying "Let's see where we are ten years down the line, let's see what has changed and what will be." Wolfwood's... well..
The priest turned and eyed the bike they had bought with the money Vash had earned serving tables, a cheap affair with a side cart and a sand-rusted engine. It probably wouldn't carry them further than New Oregon, but that was far enough, he supposed. Vash was not a planning man, and it neither was Wolfwood, and an amount of uncertainty made things more interesting - maybe that was why they dared to want each other so badly?
He reached for his helmet without a backwards glance.
~~~~
On their first night in New Oregon, they rented out a hotel room and hit the bars, getting comfortably smashed out of their minds for the first time in weeks. It felt good, Wolfwood reflected as they staggered back to their hotel (arms looped just a *little* to intimately around one another to be innocent) to forget oneself in alcohol after such an experience. Relief in a pretty brown bottle, that loosened the tongue and one's inhibitions. Warm.
They returned to the room together and stood in the doorway for a long moment before Vash pushed inwards and Wolfwood joined him at the table by the window.
More whiskey was produced, glasses poured, toasts raised until Vash had half-collapsed and Wolfwood had to drag him towards the single bed, ignoring the electricity a casual brush of Vash's sleepy fingers sent through his body, centering down his spine and making his hair stand on end. The blonde couldn't have noticed - his eyes were vague and his expression exhausted, cheeks ruddy with his drinking and raucous laughter - and Wolfwood absently ran a hand down his cheek. "Hold still," he told the blonde, and began undressing him.
The buttons came away beneath his fingers and Wolfwood smiled faintly as Vash shrugged his shoulders back like an obedient puppy, letting the cloth fall free and the scars feel the light of the low lamps. The priest folded the shirt and set to work on Vash's pants, pulling them down without another glance, smiling at the boxers - patterned with an arcane green four-leafed plant that Wolfwood had never seen growing anywhere. Hard to believe that Vash the Stampede wore something like that under his proud trench coat!
Of course, the coat had been missing for quite some time, but that was beside the point.
Vash was leaning gently against Wolfwood's shoulders, shoulders sagging with sleep, his breath whooshing softly between his parted lips. Reaching out, Nicholas D. ran his fingers into the mess of spiky gold and loosened them from their locked position at the top of his friend's head, letting them fall in a fluffy mass that was still slightly sticky from grease. Vash managed to murmur a little purr of appreciation before settling back against the covers, tucking one hand under his chin and throwing the other one across the pillow.
Why was it becoming so much easier to see the beauty in Vash than hate the innocence? Why were the obstacles between them disappearing like so much morning mist, though they remained as deadly and potent as ever? Was it Wolfwood's resolve that was weakening and breaking...?
Wolfwood returned to the window. He could feel a presence in the town that made him uneasy - it was almost like Legato, but weaker, less glaringly evil. It could be that the telepath was suppressing his powers - but why? And why would he be here of all people when his proximity threw Wolfwood in danger of letting some hint of his secret slip free?
He ran a finger around the rim of his bottle of liquor and thought long and hard, getting drunker and drunker as he did so, watching the scarred fifth moon rise over the dusty city-scape and cast a blood-red glow over the streets below, forming dancing, surreal patterns throughout the buildings.
At last he stripped off his jacket, his shirt, his shoes and socks and pulled on a pair of sweat pants, then crawled into bed next to Vash, who was cool and soft between the sheets next to him. The blonde's body seemed to almost absorb heat, so sweet was it - almost inhuman. Yes, inhuman. Wolfwood closed his eyes for a moment and then reached an arm out, tucking it over the rise of Vash's hips and letting it fall innocently against the sheets - Vash shifted, face turning upwards towards the heat of his bed mate - and Wolfwood smiled, pressing his face into the blonde's neck. Inhaling the delicate perfection-
He couldn't ruin this moment. He couldn't hurt this man. What a hell it was to live like this, so close and always so far, knowing that Vash would *have* him, that Vash even *loved* him, but... **I'm too dark. I'm too evil. I'm a tool of the one man that hates him for *who* he is and not just because he bears the name 'Vash the Stampede'... And no matter what I do I'll shatter his heart.**
If he told the truth, Vash would know he was merely a pawn of Knives, and would always question his honesty. Not to mention that Knives would probably make Wolfwood wish he had never been born... If the priest didn't tell, Vash would be rejected by the one person that knows him through and through, and that...that would hurt Vash so deeply it might never heal. Wolfwood couldn't bear being the source of one of the mental scars ingrained on Vash's gentle conscience. He *wouldn't* do that, of all things, leave Vash with another nightmare in the night... He wanted to be more than just another face, but... It was terrifying, what Legato could do, let alone Knives. It was terrifying to see the depth of the misery in Vash's eyes and know that he could alleviate some of that if he were only brave enough to try. It was terrible to know that no matter which way he turned, the glass he stood on was so delicately thin that cracks were already beginning to chip and grow and the world would soon, so very soon, fall away from beneath his feet...
Wolfwood had once been in a small town, one that had many books and even old scrolls from before the fall of the Seeds ships. In one of them he could remember reading a phrase and scoffing at it even then - 'It is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.'
That was sappy. That was the kind of crap Vash believed in. That was....completely untrue...
Wolfwood snuggled closer and wondered.
~~~~
Why are you haunting me?
Why are you haunting me?
Why are you haunting me?
Why are you haunting me?
Whoever said love is blood and love is real
Has never felt the way I feel
What does it matter?
What's done is done and I should
Get on with my life....
~~~~
The woman tilted her head and offered him a flower, a thin red thing with heart shaped leave that were ringed with darkness. Wolfwood took it, surprised - he had yet to see her with any sort of flowers, the land they stood in was nothing but pale waves of gold and skies of opalescent blue-green... "What's this?" He asked softly, surprised by the soft, almost fuzzy texture of the light green leaves, soft.... He had never known a flower was such a smooth, silky thing.
She smiled at him, the smile of a mother and a sister, and began to explain. Before a word could escape coral lips, though, the fabric of her shirt let out a resounding rip and burst forth - Wolfwood dropped the blossom and leapt to one side as a wave of liquid darkness exploded from her breast, then began pouring from her mouth and ears - it slithered and pooled in the golden grass, obliterating all. The skies darkened to the color of pitch, and Wolfwood caught only a glimpse of wide brown eyes before she disappeared completely in the coal colored night.
A long, pristine coat, a whisper in his ear, slithering through his brain and embracing the corners of his mind. Words that tempted and coiled like a snake, in a soft, disturbingly gentle tone, a voice like poisoned silk. "Hello, Nicholas D. Wolfwood."
Wolfwood stood as tall as he could, reaching for the cross that remained on his back at every moment and the security it promised - it was gone, devoured by the dark of his dream-turned-nightmare. The voice came again and a hand pressed against his shoulder, sending shivers of paranoia down his spine - the priest turned, and nobody was there, just the soft breeze and an amused laugh. "You have not reported in quite some time."
Another hand, against the small of his back - Wolfwood spun on one heel and came face to face with accusatory mahogany eyes, framed with dark hair. Midvalley cracked a slow, languid grin and met his gaze. "Chapel."
"Midvalley." So many things to say, so many questions to ask - "Why the hell are you depriving me of my sleep?" The priest demanded, scowling as Midvalley took a step back, his suit spotless and perfect.
This time the hand was on his shoulder, and a glowing pair of golden eyes filled the night. They were the same color as the fields Wolfwood had traveled in moments before, just before the black had overcome them - but sickly and twisted. Those eyes were not the gold of the sun, they were the gold of a forged blade, the gold of sand after it had been scored clean and smooth in the blasting winds of the desert - hands clawed down Wolfwood's shirt, though Legato didn't move.
**He's fucking with my mind,** he reminded himself. It was always this way.
"We need your report, Chapel." Legato spoke, and his hand curled possessively around Midvalley's shoulder, slipping down his arm and coming to a pause against the lapel of his suit.
The musician's expression was glazed. Scared, but at the same time almost hungry for a touch, for anything - Wolfwood felt dirty just witnessing such a look, and he glared hard, sending daggers of disgust towards Midvalley. Hadn't they always been together, against Legato and Knives? Hadn't they first become friends because they were kindred souls, moths trapped in the web of the spider - not good enough to be butterflies, but still able to fly?
The hand snaked lower, and Midvalley's lips parted, his expression flashing almost smug for a moment. Wolfwood spoke. "The target was injured in a sandworm attack. We loitered until he could heal and then moved on. I was wounded as well and we were cared for in the town of Mesa." Like he would ever tell Legato the real location of all those children...
Mental images were necessary, and Wolfwood steeled himself for the invasion of Legato's probing mind, slick with mental filth as it delved into his brain and pried out images. Vash falling. Vash hurt. Wolfwood's own injuries, the recovery - the priest clung to his moments with Vash doggedly and though Legato seemed suspicious, he did not insist on prying them from his mind.
And then he was left staggering and gasping as his mind was drained of the groping foreign touch and Legato pulled back. A long moment of silence, and Midvalley's eyes caught Wolfwood's own -
And suddenly, Wolfwood knew. Midvalley...
No. Impossible. It had never been love to him, a game, maybe even a convenient tool at times, but their relationship had never been love.
How could Midvalley...
Those chocolate eyes promised one thing, one resolution alone. They told Wolfwood that as he had found love in another, Midvalley would do the same. Twin pools of deep brown, a portal to a terrified soul that -
**Stop it, Midvalley,** Wolfwood wanted to scream as the musician tilted his head and let Legato set his chin against his soft neck. The telepath's eyes were slitted with satisfaction as he kissed Midvalley's skin once and then smiled broadly, flashing obscenely white teeth with a cat-like sigh. Disgusting, completely disgusting in his satisfaction with the knowledge that he was stealing something precious away from both the priest and the musician, that even if they saw one another again, after this nothing could be the same - **Let go of him. Punch him. Don't let him touch you....don't fucking let him touch you...**
The old Midvalley would have done that at such a touch, had done that each time the raping of his body and mind had occurred. Would have screamed, raised hell until Legato had either knocked him unconscious or given him something to bite against to quell the pain - The old Midvalley would have sworn. Would not have rolled back against the black-and-white contrast of the taller man's stark cloak. Would never have been a toy in a dream. Would not have...
"Midvalley," Wolfwood's voice was measured and strained, dangerously close to cracking. "Midvalley-"
"Please file your reports on time, Chapel," the musician whispered, eyes narrowing for a moment, just long enough for Wolfwood to realize the truth behind his broken will - broken heart, broken mind, broken - "We will not tolerate slacking."
Broken heart, broken will, broken mind, broken neck - Wolfwood fell backwards, reaching out, slipping through the darkness like the moon into clouds -
~~~~
He woke up. Sticky with sweat and shivering, but still, he was awake and for the moment away from Legato's mind games.
Wolfwood wanted to throw up, in fact - he rolled over and struggled to the edge of the bed, dry heaving as he went. All the liquor from early seemed to boil in his stomach as he broke into a sweat and pressed his forehead hard against the headboard of the bed in a vain attempt to distract himself from the nausea.
Midvalley had broken. That meant he was as good as dead - no, better *off* dead. Those eyes had been so accusing, he could almost hear the words - because they had been partners, they had been lovers, and now that Wolfwood had found solace elsewhere there was nobody for Midvalley to turn to...
Years it had been. Mental rape. Physical rape. Torture, that together they had borne, each for their own private reasons. The lowest degradations possible to a human, coupled with obscene words and treatment and the knowledge that it was impossible to *be* lower than they were, to be more sinful, more deadly. Wolfwood had borne it for the children. Midvalley...had reasons. Wolfwood had never known what, but when they were together it was possible to pretend that some portion of their souls was still human enough to rebel, and even if it was only two men swearing drunkenly for revenge after a long, hard day, it had been something that gaurded against the memories of probing fingers and mental laughter. Protection, safety in numbers - together. When Wolfwood had left, they had parted and there had been no sweet goodbyes or lingering kisses, just a handshake, firm and quick and simple. And a promise. 'I'll come back.'
And a response, too serious, too foreshadowing. 'No, you won't.'
They had known it wouldn't last. Both of them. They had always known it, and that was why Wolfwood had never let the chains around his heart go free - because love then and there was impossible and dangerous. Because he felt nothing for Midvalley.... appreciation of his views. His companionship, the love of a drinking partner, but it had been nothing more. Had it?
And now....
Midvalley had broken.
Wolfwood made a diving leap over Vash's figure and managed to make it to the bathroom before he was sick.
~~~~
Well I don't know what it is
But I can't seem to make myself forget
Was it something that you said
Or is it all the guilt inside my head
Why are you haunting me?
Why are you haunting me?
Why are you haunting me?
Why are you haunting me?
~~~~
