I was half-asleep when he finally awoke; in a faint drowse, I only remember seeing him one moment with his eyes closed, the next wide open, facing the ceiling in silence. Although I'd been assured he'd pull through (though, the doctors said, his healing was amazing; I didn't see fit to make any explanation,) it was still a great relief to see him awake.
"Mornin', Uncle," I murmured, trying for deliberate casualness. It'd be better if he didn't wake up into gloom and misery- after what he'd been through, that was the last thing he'd need. "How ya feelin'?"
"Like I've been run over by a sand steamer," he replied with a groan, trying to pull himself upright. By the time I moved to help him, he'd already shifted halfway to a sitting position; the faint beads of sweat on his forehead told me he wouldn't be getting any further with or without assistance. Healing or no, that had to hurt.
Echoing my thoughts, Vash's hand went to his stomach, picking idly at the bandages there. They stood out, sterile against his much-abused body. The emergency staff had been aghast at what Vash looked like beneath his bodysuit. He may heal fast, but the scars are testament to his past. I managed to convince them an explanation would be a bad idea.
"No wonder." He'd gone quiet again. Glass-green eyes remained focused on the frayed edges of the fabric strips for a moment, and then he looked at me. Now he really looked at me- not the way he'd glanced at me before. It was disconcerting- almost like he'd just noticed my presence (or was it that he'd only now realized who he spoke to?)
"How long have I been out?"
"Three and a half weeks, so far." I leaned back into my seat with a soft sigh. "Though as usual, you're lucky to be alive."
"Hardly luck." For a moment, my heart stopped; if Vash had lost his will to go on... "He never intended to kill me." He sounded wryly amused. His bitterness came as a surprise; one would think I'd've been used to my uncle's new demeanor, but in all honesty, he was still his old, happy self in my mind most of the time.
"How can you be so sure?" I retorted. "He damn well looked like he was trying to gut you."
Vash shook his head, and slid down a little in his bed. "He might say he wants me dead, but he always pulls the blow in the end. It's all for show."
"Somehow, that's not as comforting as it should be." I paused. "Though he did say as much, when he let me live."
Vash nodded, though I doubted he'd heard Knives speaking. "It might sound cold, but I'm surprised he did." His hand again played along the bandages. "I would've made it without you."
"Now whose words are all for show?" I asked him, a little bitter that my help should be so discounted. "I'm not the one whose guts were trailing, uncle. Give me a little credit, damnit."
He glanced up at me, genuinely surprised. The shock passed out of his eyes to be replaced by fondness. "I'm sorry, Adam. I guess I do try and seem like more than I am..." He trailed off, looking out the window. "I've had to, for a long time. Old habits die hard." The last words were spoken softly- I wondered exactly what he meant. And at the same time, I didn't want to know.
"So." His voice startled me out of my thoughts again. Sheets rustled as he tried to disentangle his legs, breathing raggedly with the effort. "Help me get up. We've got to go."
"You're crazy!" Get up? "You can hardly sit in bed by yourself, and you expect to get up and run around? Jesus, Vash- you don't need him, you're gonna get yourself killed." He froze at my words, propped up by one arm, and stared at me. Had I said something so strange? It seemed damned obvious.
He sank back into the pillows, regarding me strangely. The same way he usually did when he thought about... my father.
Hell. Not that again. I wish people would stop seeing him in me. I never saw the guy, myself.
"A few more days... I guess I do need the rest." He managed a grin, but I knew it was just the usual act. Covering up his anxiousness- for whose sake? Mine? I hoped not- it seemed like a betrayal, since I saw through it so easily.
"I guess we both do."