Chapter 2: Blue on Green means Hello
Author: trickygrin
*****
Disclaimer: Hey, don't ask me. I'm not doing nothing.
*****
Several days later, the minor sandstorm had still not let up. Drifts of sand were building up alongside the buildings, and the children who had only days before been playing at flying were now having a taking turns sliding down the sandbanks, only to quit after awhile and go inside to get drinks. They seemed to be nothing more than dirty ghosts at times, wrapped up as they were in cloaks and coats to keep the sand at bay, gray ghosts with occasional flashes of bright eyes and white teeth.
Vash sat at the same window he had for the past three days. Instead of coffee this time though, he was celebrating a bit this time. Upon entering the café that day, he had decided that today would not be another of those mindless days, the ones that piled upon each other, blending together in an endless haze of places he'd rather not be and thoughts he'd rather not have. Today, he would celebrate, if nothing else, the simple fact that despite all odds, he was still here, on this planet. That although he had given up, he was not so far gone as to ignore all of the things he had been taught, and go commit suicide.
Not that he hadn't considered it.
Not that he hadn't tried.
He winced at the memory. She had come in on him, asking him a favor—something simple. Could he go to the grocery store and pick up some milk? Could he--? And then she had stopped and seen him… seen what he was doing.
"Vash…."her voice trailed off. And all he could see were her eyes. Those clear, clear eyes. Staring at him. Accusing him. Hurting him. But he'd been hurt enough, and this time he ran.
Ran to where he was today. Sitting in a dirty corner in the same damn café he'd been in for the past week, waiting for the damned storm to let up enough for him to continue on the roads without fear of getting lost. Just sitting here made him restless, and although his face was no longer plastered on every wanted poster on this planet, the simple fact that he was so visible in a small town like this one made him feel vulnerable. This was another feeling that he had begun to hate in recent times.
Dwelling in the past solved nothing, and yet sometimes he couldn't help it. In the course of his thoughts he had even forgotten about his minor cause for celebration. His one moment of glory in a rapidly decaying world.
Taking a swallow of the celebratory beer he had bought himself, he savored it for a few moments, allowing the taste to clear his mouth of dust.
So maybe celebration wasn't really the right word, but in a world where he was forced to take what pride he may, he was going to count this one and ignore the fact that it was, at the heart of it, the root of all of his problems.
It had been three years to the day since he had ran from Meryl's eyes, and he hadn't run back. He wasn't there to muck up their lives, and although he was a mess, both physically and mentally, he was still alive. There were some things to be proud about. But the thing that made this anniversary a celebration was the fact that he was following Rem's last wishes. Following her wishes to the degree that he himself had never believed possible, but following them nonetheless.
Frowning slightly, he motioned the waitress over to him. "Could I have another beer?" She nodded, the overly friendly exterior gone after days of dealing with this unfriendly character. Vash was beginning to think he scared her a little. This ordinarily would have bothered him, but today it didn't, for the simple fact that he didn't want to talk.
God… why was he so dark, all of a sudden? Sure his life sometimes was horrible, dirty, and lacking in good conversation and people, but hadn't it been that way before? Before he met any of them? Hadn't he survived then? Hell, he was fine, or as fine as he got these days, just a week ago, when he walked into this town looking for a shower and a shave. Why couldn't he seem to get himself out of this hole?
It had to be the fact that he wasn't moving. Moving kept him from dwelling, both physically and metaphorically. It gave him something to do with his time, and made him feel as if his time here was not simply wasted. Being cooped up in this no-name town was driving him crazy, if simply for the fact that there was nothing to do, but redo what was done yesterday. He had already cleaned his gun three times in the past 36 hours, and it looked like he was going to end up polishing its holster tonight. What a life. He couldn't wait for this storm to end.
Taking his old bottle from him, the waitress wiped down the table and placed another fresh brew on the damp wood, patting him absently on the shoulder as he gave her his money.
Swishing the bottle experimentally, he removed his eyes from the sand drifts the children had left behind, abandoning their playground for his bottle. It gleamed at him, warm and brown. It was a hell of a lot more inviting than the weather outside, at any rate. As if to mock him, the wind threw itself at the glass once more, causing him to lift his eyes to the outside. Something moved.
For a bit he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, but a moment later he was startled to see that someone was making their way through the wind towards the café. Wrapped in layer upon layer of clothing, he couldn't distinguish anything about them beyond their mere existence, but all the same his stomach clenched nervously.
Something about them seemed uncannily familiar…
He took a swig of his new beer, forgetting its nature as the act of celebration and simply using it to quiet his rattled nerves. Why was he so nervous? What was his body sensing about this person or their mission that it wasn't telling him?
As if to answer his questions, the door swung open, catching in the wind and smashing against the wall outside. He jumped involuntarily, spilling liquor over his pants. Cursing, he scooped up a few napkins and dabbed at his pants gingerly. He didn't care so much about stains, but he didn't really want to smell like stale alcohol for the next couple of days.
Thus dabbing at his pants, he missed the stranger's entrance. Perhaps he was still too nervous, for some reason. Perhaps, the same something that had warned him that something was coming was warning him to ignore this change of environment for as long as possible. Or perhaps, he knew that something about the fact that he felt he knew them, combined with the sense of determination he had gotten from their braving the storm outside, scared him. Something in his life was about to change, and the last time something major had changed, he had run away to the only life he had ever known. Stranded here, to where could he run?
But the ostrich approach solved nothing. …calm yourself…. He had to pull his head out of the proverbial sand now.
Looking up from the mess on his pants, he saw the stranger at the counter asking the waitress for a drink. "What would you like?" the waitress was smiling warmly at the stranger, like she had been the day that Vash walked into this restaurant. Worriedly, he glanced back at the stranger.
"Cey—" their voice was muffled almost beyond understanding, and he watched them stop and sigh as they realized this. Lowering the duffel they were carrying, they began unwinding the length of cloth that was wrapped around their head and shoulders, revealing a mess of long brown hair that tumbled around them. "Um… actually, just a beer please," a light voice that seemed to tinkle on the verge of laughter asked.
…Uh oh… this was worse than expected. He not only knew that voice, but he knew that he could not dodge the change it represented. Whatever it was that she brought… it had been here to stay since she entered the room. Sinking into his chair, he wondered numbly why she was looking for him, as surely she had to be, to be this far into the boonies in this weather.
Almost on cue, she turned around, her eyes searching the room for something—or in this case, someone. She almost missed him, in the dark corner as he was, his clothes and hair as vastly different from what they had been when she had last seen him, as they were.
Skipping back to him, she met his eyes for the first time since she had last seen him, four years ago. Her sky-blue eyes, which had always seemed so innocent and playful before had matured and strengthened to the point that they appeared almost hawk-like in the gloom.
"Your beer," the waitress handed a beer to her, and she took it absently, as if the drink itself were no longer important, now that she had found Vash the Stampede. Maybe that was it. It seemed likely. Why was she looking at him like that? Almost accusing him of something… But what could he have done to her? In vain, he searched his memory for something, anything. Nothing directly affected her, but…
And then she smiled at him.
And wonder of wonders, he found himself captivated by that smile that the Preacher himself had fallen head over heels for, and he smiled back at her warmly, muscles cracking in a wonderful discomfort over the sudden strain after many, many months of disuse.
"Hey, Big Girl!" He beckoned her over to his table, and she, still smiling took the seat opposite him. "It's been a long time!"
"Yeah," Millie Thompson grinned at him, a bit of the old innocence returning to her features, "Yeah it has, 'Mr. Vash.'"
"It's just Vash, we're friends, remember?"
"And it's just Millie for me now."
*****
Much later, after some much needed reminiscing on both of their parts, and after both of them had consumed more than their fair share of alcohol, they stopped talking for a bit, allowing the silence to take hold for a minute or two.
Around them, the café had its usual dinner crowd. A few couples leaned in romantically towards each other, their eyes reflecting the candlelight that lay between them as they whispered sweet nothings to each other. Vash ignored them, choosing this moment instead to study his companion.
Millie Thompson had always been an oddly pretty figure, rather tallish for his tastes, but pretty nonetheless. And yet, somehow the years had strengthened that into a more mature beauty, one that had wiped the last vestiges of childhood from her features. Her nickname of 'Big Girl' was now an official misnomer, as the 'girl' portion no longer applied. In the place of the bouncy, cute, and naïve girl he had known during his days as an outlaw, there was now an older, wiser, and slightly more jaded person. In some ways, the girl he had known five years ago and in many other ways, completely different. Not that he could talk. He certainly didn't think he resembled anything from five years ago, let alone three years ago.
Shaking loose these thoughts, he decided it couldn't be avoided for any longer. Sighing, he asked her what had been weighing on his mind all evening. "So, what brings you here?"
She finished her beer, setting the bottle down carefully on the table, her vaguely red face the only sign that she'd been drinking. "Well…." She stared at the table, seemingly embarrassed.
"Well? C'mon, spill. It's no secret that you're here for me. Now just tell me what and why." She continued to stare at the table until he tapped her on the shoulder. Flinching slightly, she finally met his eyes directly.
"M—Vash, I don't want to get involved in the situation between you and Miss Meryl…"
"Miss?" Vash asked curtly, losing his humor instantly.
"Sorry, habit, I guess." She took a deep breath and continued on in a rush. "I don't know why you took off all of a sudden and left Meryl and him together. They don't tell me anything. Sometimes I wonder if she can…. But it seems right. Only I know it's wrong… It's got to be wrong, it just has to be." Noticing his deepening frown, she threw up her hands in frustration. "I'm sorry, I'm babbling."
"Why are you here?" his voice was dead. The deadness inside had returned as well. A cold well within his heart had re-opened. Were these words meant to be said by anyone who was not directly involved? Were they allowed to be said by anyone other than him?
"M-Meryl sent me here." Millie stammered, staring at her bottle once more. She flexed her hands a few times before continuing. "She--she wants you to come back." Stopping in a rush, she looked up at him expectantly, her blue eyes seeming to glow in the half-light.
She wanted him back?
This couldn't be….
What was going on?
This was what he'd been wanting, for five years…. Why was it being dropped in his lap on the third year after he'd discovered what he needed most out of life, and what was never meant to be given away? Why now?
"She—she told you this?"
Seeing the look in his eyes, Millie's eyes began to fill with tears. "No… Mr. Vash…she wants you to come back b-because—" Shoulders shaking, she began to cry softly, tracks of tears running lines of mud and dust down her face.
"Because?" His heart sunk. He'd known she didn't want him back, but having it verified hurt anyway.
"Because Knives has gone missing, and she wants you to find him."
*****
Author's Note: And by one a day update I mean, once every sleep cycle. God, I'm sooo ready for a break. Notes about this chapter: Yeah, I laid it on a little thick this time, but unfortunately, that was cuz I didn't have anybody for Vash to interact with, and that tends to make things muchly introspective… which, in my experience, is a dark, dark affair. Toodles, all.
Next Chap: A Journey to the Scene of the Crime