~~~~
Gone away
Who knows where you been
You take all your lies
And wish them all away
I somehow doubt
We'll ever be the same
There's too much poison
And confusion on your face

[Hate This Place - Goo Goo Dolls]
~~~~

Walls. Everywhere, stalking upwards like the twisted roots of dead trees, sometimes smooth, sometimes ribbed and wriggling, almost alive in their gloomy shadows. Twisted fingers, reaching upwards, seeking something between the stars and finding nothing but blackest night. The shadows swirled in leaps and bounds between the pools of hungry darkness in the shady overhangs and the patches of lightless gloom cast by Wolfwood's torso as he fled beneath the moons, the darkness licking at everything in it's path.

There were few lights, and he ran from them, as they burned his eyes, sending starbursts of numbing blindness coursing through his body. There were fewer people than lights, who turned slightly in surprise as a ghostly, half naked figure blurred through the alleyways around them and disappeared around another bend, swallowed by the night. They neither ran nor moved nor called to him - he might as well have been a figment of a deranged imagination for all the credit they gave him.

He tore through the back streets, eyes wide, sweat collecting on his brow and dropping away down the panes of his cheeks - There was nothing to look for, or hope for, or pray for, however there *was* something to run from, and so he ran, his lungs bursting and his calves burning, the thundering of his heartbeat filling his head and eyes, vision seeping in and out in waves along with the pattering pulse.

Nicholas D. Wolfwood was afraid to turn around, because behind him, ghosts were racing. In front of him shadows opened wide, comforting in their obscurity, ambiguous promises of safety - but it was eternally laced with that sparking, startling agony -

He wanted....

...he wanted...

Suddenly there was a soft click, the sound of a gun cocking in the darkness, and a hard steel barrel was slammed against the base of Wolfwood's neck, biting into the flesh mercilessly.

"You going to kill me, Hornfreak?" he whispered, voice rasping like metal over stone, low and terrified and hate filled all at once. The gun bit harder into the skin at the back of his neck, and Wolfwood straightened up a bit.

This was it. He was going to die. He was going to end up the way he had always known he would end up, a body in the gutter to be stepped over and ignored, an ignominious death for a man who had haunted the shadows for all of his life.

A preacher. Destined for hell. Damned despite his belief by the smile of a brilliant blonde and the golden eyes of another...

"If you're going to kill me, then do it, I'm ready to die."

Something struck his knees and Wolfwood's legs buckled - it was all he could do to catch himself before his face was ground into the dirt. "Shut up, Nicholas D. Wolfwood."

Alarms went off in his head, and Wolfwood looked up in surprise at the name, meeting Midvalley's eyes.

Chocolate brown. Wide, terrified pools in a face that was stern and hate filled - his hand was steady, finger poised on the trigger, but those eyes! They were not the eyes of a man steeled to commit murder, and Wolfwood knew that. He knew what Midvalley looked like as he snuffed out a life, and this was not that hardened expression, this was something else.

"Legato," the priest whispered, and Midvalley's face curled up into a sneer. "Can't even do your own dirty work, can you? Have to send someone else to snuff out the one guy who'd defy the dog you call master?"

The gun hit him in the face, sharp and cold, cutting his cheek and making him bite his tongue all at once. The black haired priest fell again, choking on blood and spitting it out into the dirt, while Midvalley fired three shots down towards him - they circled his head, embedded into the packed dirt street with sickening thuds.

Wolfwood's eyes narrowed - Legato would not have missed, unless...

Midvalley *was* shaking now, his eyes narrow with hatred, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth as he struggled with the demon inside of him. Wolfwood was not sure what to think or do or say, terrified of moving lest the motion distract the struggle and sway the tide against his favor. The musician was staggering slightly, knuckles white as he mouthed something Wolfwood could not quite make out...

And then the player froze.

Wolfwood swallowed the blood in his mouth, and refused to move.

It could be a trick, a trap, anything! Midvalley had always been his friend (in a place where such bonds were few and far between), but their last meeting had been less than warm, and Legato, with his twisted mind, seemed prone to do something like injure Midvalley to spur Wolfwood's concern, then backstab him in one fell swoop... So he stayed where he was, shaking on the ground, as Midvalley began trembling hard and half-screaming.

The alley was dark, save for the soft haze that was beginning to leak around Midvalley's body, a pale golden glow - Wolfwood recognized it, and cringed. He had felt that anger before, that sharp, flashing fury - inhuman, terrible - and now it was being unleashed on his former partner before his eyes.

The priest took a half-step closer as the gold caressed and burned - Midvalley's body convulsed once with sparking bolts of electricity, then gave out completely, the light vanishing as quickly as it had appeared, leaving it's victim a husk of agony, laying broken in the dust of the disgusting alley.

Wolfwood took it upon himself to move then, crawling to the musician and tucking Midvalley's head into his lap. The neatly arranged black hair was all out of place, falling across the musician's closed eyes, charred in places and burn completely off in others. There were bloody, lightning-shaped streaks down the tattered arms, visible beneath the torn cloth of the once-pristine suit, and a large crimson stain was pooling beneath the body... Wolfwood swallowed back the knot of disbelief forming in his stomach and gave the form in his arms a less than gentle shake. "Player. Hey, Player. Wake up."

The musician didn't stir. "Stupid...get up already. C'mon, wake up. He didn't fry ya that bad, you idiot..." He was breathing, wasn't he? With fumbling fingers the priest sought out a burning wris, and held his breath for a long moment until the heartbeat proved to be steady and sure. Good, that meant that the electricity hadn't been that powerful - and if his heart was still beating, his brain was still functioning. Right? "Midvalley?"

The wait for those mahogany chocolate eyes to open seemed far too long for Wolfwood, who was *not* about to let the man that had been his best friend die in his arms - with gritted teeth, he raised one hand and slapped Midvalley across the face, leaving a mark visible even in the darkness. "Wake the fuck up, you tone-deaf excuse of an alcoholic!"

It worked. For another moment there was silence, then the corner of Midvalley's lips curved up in a grin that was almost terrible for all of it's grim amusement. "Sweet, Chapel, real sweet. I missed you too."

"Idiot."

"And here I was enjoying listening to you mourn my loss..." The eyes closed again, and a self-righteous smirk fled across Midvalley's face. "Did he...?"

"Shoot me?" Wolfwood looked down at the three still-smoking bullet holes in the dirt, and shook his head. "No. Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why'd you let him take you over like that?" Wolfwood shoved the prone torso out of his lap, and Midvalley sat up, absently rubbing the bruises on his wrists and glaring slightly at the priest. "He was just using your body to kill me, and I know when you try you're way too strong for him to control... so you must have given yourself over to him, even though he was going to kill me." Wolfwood looked away and shook his head, bangs jaggedly hiding his eyes. How could he believe that Midvalley hadn't betrayed him? Or even more so, did he have the right to feel abused after all he had done - and never done - to the musician?

But it wasn't even his fault! He hadn't asked for anything more than a quick fuck now and then, right? He hadn't meant for emotions to get involved with their relationship, and he sure as hell hadn't wanted to fall for Vash!

God, Heaven, Hell - someone had thrown him a curve ball that he couldn't deal with, and suddenly his world was upside down, his enemies were his friends, his partners and employers were now sighting him with all of their force - and the one thing he had hoped to earn was still as forbidden to him as it had been when all hell had yet to break loose.

"Tell me why."

Midvalley stared at Wolfwood, wiping the blood from his chin with trembling fingers, his eyes narrow and hurt. "Maybe I did want you dead. They're going to kill you anyway... now that you betrayed them."

"I didn't," Wolfwood whispered.

"You care about the target. The target, more importantly, loves you. And Knives hates that more than anything - he's wanted Vash for all these years and then you waltz in and jump him like that - Jesus, Chapel, I thought you had more smarts than that! Or at least a stronger will to live!"

Wolfwood was silent for a long moment, wondering how far the musician could be trusted. Had Midvalley been the one to blow the whistle on his not-quite-relationship with Vash, or had Knives or Legato discovered it when he reported in? And he and Midvalley had just survived an ordeal - the influence of both evils - would the companionship that was returning in the aftermath of terror be long lasted, or a bond forged and broken, that between those who suffer equally at the hands of a tyrant, but go back to petty bickering when they are separated again? He couldn't tell, and he answered accordingly. "I don't know."

"I didn't ask you anything," the musician scowled, running dusty fingers through his hair as he stared at Wolfwood, eyes filled with unspoken accusations.

"I don't know why I....why he...." Wolfwood closed his eyes, then opened them again as Midvalley reached for the gun he had dropped in the struggle for his own body. "I didn't want to. I can't explain - but you *can* tell me why the hell you let Legato do that to you! You really want me dead?"

"There were times," the musician slowly admitted, "when I did. Because you forgot all about me so quickly, like you always said you would, and I couldn't do the same - it made me angry."

"You didn't."

"I do. But if I'm going to kill you, Chapel - or should I call you Nicholas now? Does Vash all you that, now that you own him?"

Wolfwood didn't rise to the bait.

"If I'm going to kill you, it'll be by my own free will and in a proper battle - I wouldn't shoot *you* in the back, Chapel, I want to see your face as you go down at my feet." Midvalley reached for his saxophone and tensed, turning and staring into Wolfwood's eyes with a gaze that made Wolfwood shake harder - it was a look that was haunted, hunted. A look that said Midvalley was sure to receive a brutal punishment for this fiasco, and he knew it, but would not repent - it was a look that suggested....maybe, just maybe those words had been for show, and Midvalley was still an ally, not a foe. There was jealousy, burning brilliant - was all of that emotion centered around him?

Wolfwood cringed.

"Get away from me," he told the musician, extending a choice finger. "And tell Knives and his little pet that he can kiss my ass, because I'll keep Vash as long as I want him."

Damn. That probably wasn't smart, Wolfwood mused, as the bell of Midvalley's saxophone made contact with his face and sent him sprawling in the dirt again as it came down once more, cracking against his shoulders, then the small of his back, sending pain arching through every nerve. However, he could bear it - such physical agony was nothing when compared to the mental torment he had endured less than an hour before, pain that had been blinding and burning and endless.

Again and again, Midvalley's boots and fists and pounding anger, until Wolfwood felt himself slipping away -

~~~~
Can you feel it
I didn't mean it
Can I see you
What are we doin'
I think I love you
But I ain't sayin' nothin' you don't know

Hold on dreamaway
You're my sweet charade
~~~~

"It hurts..."

"Everything has a silver lining, though. If you learn from a mistake you can avoid making it a second time. Use it to grow."

He rolled over, feeling blood between his fingers, sticky and oozing. "But it...it hurts so much..."

There was a motherly hand across his forehead, smoothing back the dark bangs with an affectionate gesture - Wolfwood melted backwards, sighing gently as the worst of his aches were swept away by the touch. "Mmm."

He felt young. He felt warm.

It was nice.

There was something special about being held by a woman - something Wolfwood decided he had missed quite a bit, and he sank back into the lap of the speaker with careless abandon, letting a soft cloth trace over the ridges of his face, cleaning away the dirt and blood. "My, you're a mess, aren't you?"

Wolfwood mumbled an agreement and tilted his chin up a bit, letting her hands roam down to his chest, where they sorted through the tattered remains of his scarless flesh and pressed soft dampness against it. He shifted and smiled faintly as she began humming a soft, lilting tune that seemed eerily familiar -

The priest had *always* liked women. They were soft and gentle and friendly, and you didn't have to watch your step around most of them like you did with men. Yeah, that was stereotypical, but that was how it was - he liked the softness of their skin and the wide expanses of their soulful eyes - he liked their curves and pale lips, and the way they fell in love with a person and protected that person for as long as they lived.

So why? Why had he fallen so quickly and so hard for someone that contradicted all of that, save the soulful eyes, which his own dear Vash had in spades? It wasn't fair - he could feel disgust at himself bubbling up in his chest, painful and dark, but shoved it aside and tried his hardest to ignore the voices in his mind. It wasn't *fair* that Vash could be so perfect, so strong and brave and damned false all at once... one man shouldn't have the luxury to be powerful, but chose to be weak in spite of that ability. It wasn't right.

"Now, don't tense up on me..."

The woman's hands were insistent as she began working knots out of his shoulders and easing away the worst pangs in his muscles, palms absorbing the tension and pain, sending Wolfwood's mind into an almost childish state of relaxation - he sighed softly and curled against her knees.

"Tell me what's wrong."

"Vash," the priest mumbled, turning and resting his head against the rumples of her shirt. "S'always Vash."

"What happened?"

"He...I wanted to be with him, an' they won't let me..." Wolfwood's eyes felt heavy, and his fingers curled slightly as long fingernails brushed through his hair. His tone was almost petulant as he breathed out against her legs, eyes sinking closed even as she sighed in agreement. "Hurts..."

"Shh. If you want to be with him, just stay close to him and everything will be alright," the woman said simply - and when she spoke, it seemed as if everything *could* work out the way she believed...as if her words could floor all the odds against them.

Wolfwood felt safe. "Will it?"

"Of course."


~~~~
Take your time
Move yourself to me
Yeah I can take your lies
Until you fall away
You know I'm lost
Hiding in your bed
No I don't think it's wrong
It's just gone to my head
Can you feel it
I didn't mean it
Can I see you
What are we doin'
I think I love you
But I ain't sayin' nothin' you don't know
~~~~


"Mister Priest?"

Damn it, what *was* that noise? It was louder than anything and made the blood in temples pound horrendously, jerking him from dreams that he was sure had been pleasant. "Are you alright, Mister Priest...? Mister Wolfwood? Wolfwood, wake up!"

When Wolfwood bothered to open his eyes, he found himself gazing into the curious face of an all-too-familiar insurance girl, her wide sky-colored eyes framed by light, soft blonde-brown waves. For a moment he wasn't sure where he was - and then he shifted on the hard ground and blinked, memories murky and unclear in his throbbing mind. "Damn it, what...?"

Milly's eyes looked troubled, and she frowned at the priest, twining a lock of hair around one finger. "Are you alright? I didn't think you were going to wake up. Who did this? What's wrong? Why did you make Vash cry?"

Wolfwood wasn't quite sure what to answer first, so he settled for rolling over and blinking - his eyes were crusted with dust and blood, but seemed intact. After that initial check he checked his teeth, fingers, and other areas, then decided that Midvalley had done no lasting damage and lent himself to more pressing matters, like.... What the hell had just happened?

The priest sat up and groaned, feeling sick - and after spitting out a mouthful of blood, he began massaging his temples in one hand. "Eh? Pretty girl, slow down," he muttered, suppressing a groan as Milly moved next to him and pressed her hand against his cheek. The touch made him think - reminded him of something - what had he been dreaming about? Wolfwood couldn't remember, and so he just shied away from the touch, as if he had been burnt.

And he had, but Milly didn't know that. Didn't need to know that.

"What're you doing here?"

"Meryl and I went out to look for you," the girl murmured, looking nervously over one shoulder. "We heard you start screaming, and when we checked your room, Mister Vash was crying and didn't know where you'd gone, so we took our guns and came out here."

Wolfwood's eyes widened slightly as memories struck him, and he immediately tried to stand, succeeding only in making himself feel more ill. He fell back to the ground and sighed as the girl's expression redoubled in fearful anxiety. "There were...was a man in this alley...?"

"In a black suit?" Milly frowned. "I fired a few rounds at him with my stungun. Weird guy, Mister priest, with some kinda shiny instrument, but he took off real quick."

Wolfwood nodded, and licked his lips - he would have liked to see Midvalley at the other end of a stungun, but at the same time was glad he had not seen a woman - of all people - come to his rescue. How to cover his tracks...? "I didn't even see him, I was...ah.... Vash and I had a fight," he finished lamely, looking away. This girl was more difficult to lie to than Vash - she was innocent and hiding nothing, while Vash had worlds hidden away in his flowing red cloak, so lying to her seemed like a travesty that was unforgivable, instead of a mere necessity, as it was with Vash. "So I left."

"You were screaming..."

"I was...angry," he whispered.

"Do you feel alright?"

"Not really. I feel sleepy. And like I'm gonna puke," he added, grimacing. Milly paled slightly and nodded in sympathy.

"Let's go back to the hotel, then. You might have a. con..con...concussion! If you do, we'll have to see a doctor in the morning, okay?"

Wolfwood nodded wearily and closed his eyes for a moment. In all honesty, back to the hotel was the last place he wanted to go. Seeing Vash now.... He didn't know what to say. How could he explain bursting into screams like that for no reason at all, running from the scene when Vash had finally decided to grant him the intimacy he had been seeking? Vash would be hurt, scared... And there wasn't a single lie to cover for that.

"Mister Vash was very upset," Milly sighed as if she was sensing his thoughts and stood, dusting the front of her long pantaloons off with the palms of her hands. After a moment she offered Wolfwood a hand and pulled him to his feet, where he swayed unsteadily. "He wouldn't leave the room even though we tried to make him. What did you fight about?"

"Men stuff." Wolfwood wobbled and knelt again as much to catch his balance as to collect one of Milly's stungun crosses, which had handed to her, smiling as warmly as he could - which must have been quite a sight, because Milly looked away, apparently embarrassed.

"We should get you cleaned up," she told him, taking his arm and helping him down the street.

~~~~
Hold on dreamaway
You're my sweet charade

Hey whatcha do to me
Would you come back to me
Yeah I can't do another day
I'm not certain of it anyway
I'm not messin' with another life
Can I get on without you
Tell me lies
That you
Know I need
~~~~

"So he was *really* angry with me?"

The girl's wide blue eyes were troubled as she regarded the priest draped over her shoulders. "Uhuh. What did you fight about anyway, Mister Wolfwood?"

Wolfwood paused in front of Vash's door and sought for an answer, gulping back his nervousness. "Um..."

"You don't have to tell me," Milly said lightly, knocking on the door. "I know you care a lot about Mister Vash. Close friends always argue! Sometimes sempai gets so frustrated with me...Mister Vash? Mister Vash, I found your runaway priest...!" There was no response from within the room, so Milly opened the door and swung it inwards bringing Wolfwood with her.

The inside was dark, filled with shadows, and Vash's red coat was hanging off the coat stand, the only patch of brilliant color in the entire room. The table was covered in bottles, the beds unmade, the cross punisher unwrapped and thrown across the floor - however Vash was not present.

Wolfwood breathed a poorly disguised sigh of relief.

"He's probably looking for you," Milly said regretfully, helping Wolfwood across the room to one of the beds before turning. She handed him one of the bottles on the table that still had an amount of liquor in the bottom, then went to the bathroom and filled up a basin of water, bringing that, the alcohol and several towels back to the bed. A quick run to retrieve ice for the worst of his bruises followed that, and then the quasi-blonde set her supplies down and smiled teasingly at the man on the bed. "Now hold still, Mister Priest..."

Wolfwood closed his eyes and let the woman wipe his scrapes and bruises clean of much and blood, wincing as alcohol, the only available disinfectant, stung the abrasions painfully. At some point Meryl stuck her head in and brought up another bottle along with some gauze, then retreated, sensing the depression hovering around Wolfwood's mind.

As Milly cleaned the small of his back, where saxophone keys had left punctures in the tender skin, the woman spoke again. "Does Mister Vash know that you like him?"

Wolfwood's eyes snapped open. "Ah...of course he knows, we're friends, aren't we?"

"No, I mean - *Like* him. Or do you think you love him?" she asked, eyes filled with some hidden emotion that Wolfwood couldn't read.

"What?!"

"When you were unconscious, you kept calling for him, and muttering under your breath. Then you stopped all together..." She frowned lightly and pressed an ice pack against his forehead and cheek again. "Does he know?"

"....yeah....." Somehow it was easy to make that admition in the face of innocent blue eyes... Milly smiled faintly when he told her, and nodded in approval.

"Thought so."

They sat in silence for a while longer, until Wolfwood felt horribly sleepy, his eyes drooping closed as the warm hands worked across his skin. So familiar, so soft and calm.... abruptly, he recalled the dream he had been floundinger in earlier. Milly's hands were different than those phantom touches, though... before he could follow that train of thought, it was derailed completely by exhausted sleep.

~~~~
Hold on dreamaway
You're my sweet charade
~~~~

When he woke up, the clock read '5:03 AM', and Vash was staring at him from across the room.

~~~~
Hold on dreamaway
You're my sweet charade

Hold on dreamaway
Hold on dreamaway
~~~~