Pssst...I don't own Trigun or any of its characters! But I *do* own 'Cloaked Man/Woman' and any other characters that might pop up now and then...

Thanks to GhostGuy, Bluesummers, Alucard, and TeaRoses for their reviews! ^.^ I'm glad you like the story and my character, and don't worry! There's plenty more to come! (Y'all should read Alucard's and TeaRoses's fics).

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The girl frowned as she staunched the blood flow from her shoulder with the already sopping rag. 'Goddamnit, I hate getting shot. Son of a bitch!' Her irritation with the wound was compounded by the fact that there were live men down there she could pump for information, but all the people-including that Vash character-would be in the way, and would hear what was being said. She'd have to wait until tomorrow. She was about to let out a long list of expletives when there was a knock at her door. 'Who is it?' she asked gruffly.

'Vash! I came to see how you were.' The girl debated for a moment, then decided it was better to placate the man instead of leaving him pounding at the door, as she felt he would. She unlocked and opened the door slightly, let him in, then quickly closed it again. He turned to her, extending his hand in comfort. 'Are you OK...' he stopped, staring.

The girl's only clothing was a pair of baggy, dirty brown pants, and some sort of cloth wrapped around her chest in strips. Her arms were slim but muscular, and her stomach was flat and muscular as well. Her eyes were blue grey, and though she was obviously quite young-only her early twenties-she really did seem to be as old as the man she portrayed. He pointed to her cloth strip 'shirt' that wrapped around her breasts down to her mid-riff. 'Did you hurt your ribs?'

'No, it's to flatten my chest. Most men don't have breasts, at least last time I checked.' She sat back down on her chair, picking up another rag, wetting it, and wiped away the slowing blood flow. Vash frowned.

'You got shot!'

'Just a ricochet,' she said shortly and pulled bandages and a bottle of what Vash recognized as disinfectant out of a bag on the floor and began to wrap her shoulder, seeming to be annoyed with the awkward position.

'Shouldn't you get a doctor to get the bullet out first?' She shook her head and pointed to a small plate on the floor; a misshapen bullet lay in the middle.

'It didn't go in far, it was easy enough to get out.' She tied off the bandage, then looked at Vash. 'So what do you want? I told you to forget you ever met me.'

'I wanted to thank you for saving my life. I wasn't expecting that guy to pop up with a gun. I thought I knocked him out. But...I wanted to know why you had to kill the men you did.' Vash didn't bother to hide the sadness in his voice, but the girl just stared oddly at him.

'He was going to kill me and you if he could. Knocking someone out is only temporary. That's why you shoot to kill.' Vash blanched and tried to interrupt, but she continued. 'And my intention wasn't to save you, it was to get you out of my way so I could get to the bastard.'

Vash shook his head. 'You're just saying that to sound tough,' he said, laying a gloved hand on her bare shoulder. 'You should never take the life of another human being, there's always another way out.' She shook his hand off coldly, not bothering to reply then stood up. Her head came to about Vash's chin, but looking at her, Vash felt like she was immense, utterly gigantic; there was nothing small about her.

'That's a nice sentiment, in fact it's quite beautiful and I'm sure it's going to get you somewhere-in a damned grave without a single stone to mark your body. Most people cannot afford to live like that, don't bother to try to convince me.' She stared boldly at him, sneering a bit, something Vash was used to seeing from people by now.

'I just wanted you to know-'

'Sir, unless you are somehow connected to my life, I don't give a damn about you. I don't care what your name is, where you've come from, where you're going, what you think, or what you need-even need from me. I travel alone, and I have no interest in discussing personal ethics, or anything else for that matter, with anyone.' Her tone was dismissive and slightly bitter, and Vash could tell that was his hint to leave, but he already felt involved with her and ignored it.

'Why do you dress like that and talk like a man?'

'That's rather obvious. Riding alone in itself is dangerous, riding alone as a woman is damn near suicide. Men have less of a reason to bother me if they think I'm a man as well. There are, of course, exceptions.' She turned around and picked up a loose, dark brown long sleeved shirt and pulled it over her head, then began to clean up the rags and water. Vash watched her, pity and sadness in his eyes.

'Why ride alone at all?' he asked softly. She stopped and looked up from her bag which she had been packing things into.

'Because it's easier that way,' she lied. 'Less food, less money, less attention, less problems.' She closed her bag with a snap. Vash sighed inwardly; she wasn't opening up to him-and he wanted her to! He loved listening to people talk, about their past, about their future, their family, their ups, their downs-everything. He sometimes talked about himself, but people were usually too wrapped up in themselves to ask or listen. And he wanted to at least try to make her see that there were many other ways to go about things, without killing anyone-even hurting them.

'What's your name?'

'None of your business. You already know more about me than you should. The more information you have, the greater the danger of me killing you.' She noticed he seemed unperturbed by her threat. ::Odd, odd man,:: she thought.

Vash sat down on the bed, quirked his head to one side and studied her, his arms folded. She returned his gaze levelly, barely blinking. He judged her to be about 5'5, probably 5'7 with boots on, and weighed somewhere around 130 pounds. Her skin was rather pale, and from the small amount that he could see, there were scars aplenty. Her dark brown hair wasn't as long as he first thought, so it only came down to her shoulders. He saw a faint scar along her left jaw line, and her nose looked a bit off, as if it had been broken and then not set quite correctly. All in all, she was rather attractive, even if he couldn't tell what her chest size was; it didn't matter too much to him at the moment. But he didn't fully accept any of her answers, and continued prodding. 'Are you an outlaw?'

'No, I'm not a wanted man. Or woman,' she added.

'Then why are you riding alone so secretly? Being an outlaw is the only reason I can come up with.'

'There are more reasons than being an outlaw to do what I do.' She walked over to her window, opening the curtains and looking out. She closed her eyes for a few seconds, then turned to look at him. 'Listen, you seem like a nice guy. The fact that you came to make sure I was OK says so. So if you really care, you'll just leave the room and let me go my own way. You don't have any connection to me or my life, and I'd rather you stay out of it.' Vash unfolded his arms and pressed himself up.

'So what are you going to do now?' She shrugged.

'Sleep. I'm leaving tomorrow, on to the next town.'

'Where are you heading?' He stepped closer to her, but she stayed where she was.

'West,' she said simply. 'Seems like a nice enough direction.' They were both quiet for a moment.

'OK,' Vash said sadly. 'I'll leave you alone. Just say goodbye to me before you leave, OK?' She nodded. He turned and walked to the door. As he was unlocking it, he stopped and turned back to her. 'Can you...please tell me your name. I swear I won't reveal it to anybody. I have no one to tell, please, you can trust me.'

Her jaw tightened as she thought; yes, there was something very trustable in him-and trusting. She saw the trust of a child almost hidden in those eyes and she wished for a second to ask about his life. But the moment of hesitation passed and she coolly shook her head. Vash sighed, then nodded.

'Good night.' He slipped out, and the woman walked quickly over to it, locking it with the key. She pressed her ear to the door. Footsteps, walking down the hall...and he was gone. She stayed there for a minute, pressing her forehead against the wood.

'My name is Trieste...' she murmured to herself, as if he might somehow hear. Pushing away from the door, she shook her head and then began to stretch. She couldn't stay in shape by just riding on her horse, so had for many years kept up a daily workout. She rolled out a small blanket on the hard floor and continued to stretch before her sit-ups. An hour later Trieste heard familiar footsteps in the hallway and she paused from her push-ups; she was purely working her left arm now that her right shoulder was damaged, but she was proud she could do it one handed. She silently moved over to her door and listened again; his footsteps...a scraping of chair legs on the floor...footsteps, ever so light, back to her door and the almost inaudible thud of the chair being put back down.

::He's staying outside my door!:: she thought to herself. ::What is with this guy? Doesn't he know when to back off? I'm lucky I heard him. Alright, Mr. Vash, I can play your game.:: Trieste walked across her floor, dressing, packing, getting ready to leave as silently as possible. This man was obviously going to cause problems for her, so she decided that leaving tonight was probably her best option. She would be unable to talk to the would-be thieves, but Trieste felt it was a sacrifice she'd have to make. She put everything by her window, though there wasn't much; just her shoulder bag, some extra clothing that couldn't be put into it, and her cloak. She tossed some money on the table as her room and board payment. Then she walked over to her lamp, this time making some sounds, and turned everything off. She walked over to her bed, and pressed her arms down on it, making the springs squeak to sound as if she had laid down. For a full minute she held still, then lifted her arms, letting the bed squeak one last time, as if she had found a better position. The ever so quietly she slid across the room, tossing on her cloak, slung her bag over her shoulder, and held the small bundle of cloths in the crook of her arm. The window opened noiselessly; she reached inside, closing the curtains and then the window. Silently, she tip-toed across the balcony. 'Goodbye Mr. Vash.'

Once outside, Trieste paused and scanned the area. Almost all lights were out, except for a bar or two, and the sheriff's office. Not surprisingly, every light in every room was on in there. She knew she would have been questioned and honored tomorrow, part of the reason she wanted to leave as soon as she could. She took a longer look around, squinting sometimes. There was no stirring of life, no one on the streets. Straining her neck to see the big clock in town, she saw it was about 12:30. Satisfied no one was watching her, she shimmied down the balcony posts with a slight difficulty and swiftly made her way to the nearby stable her horse was kept. Everything was pitch black as she passed by the several Thomases and a few horses being kept until she found her horse. 'Hello, Miss,' she said affectionately, patting the brown and white-speckled horse on its side. 'It's a late night escape, so wake up!' Trieste quickly saddled the horse, gave her a last bit of food, then silently led the horse away. As they walked out of town, Trieste cheerfully and quietly talked to the horse. 'Well, where shall we go? I said West, so we can't go that way, and we just came from the East. So do we go North or South?' The horse nickered and tossed it's head. 'South? OK, South it is.' Trieste hoisted herself up and trotted out of town, due South.

Someone had been watching, though. Two people in fact; one was in a bar, the other in a darkened window. It was not due to Trieste's incompetence that she missed them, but the fact that the two people survived by watching, by seeing without ever being seen. Once she was out of town and out of sight, both moved swiftly to their meeting place, got on horses, and sped separate ways. Her movements were of interest to them, and she was now a marked woman.

*~*

Vash yawned and stretched, cramped from a night's sleep in a chair. He smiled, figuring the woman was still in her room, sleeping soundly. Maybe he could find out more about her today-like her name. After quietly placing the chair back in the corner where it came from, he took a quick stop in the bathroom and came out to find a young woman opening Trieste's door and walking in with clean linen. He followed behind her and was more than surprised to see the room completely empty, the young woman pocketing the money. 'Miss, have you seen the man who was in here?'

'Nome, sir, he must have skipped out early this morning. At least he paid in full.' The woman busied herself by changing the sheets, dusting, and at one point, opening the curtains and window at the far end of the room. Vash stared at the window, wondering where Trieste was. The it dawned on him.

::She slipped out through the window! That little sneak!:: he thought admirably. Shrugging, he went downstairs and out to a small food store for breakfast-doughnuts and milk. As he sat outside on a bench, gobbling his breakfast and watching the people walk by, he began to think of the woman last night, wondering about her sadly. He didn't make a practice of chasing people down, they always seemed to find him. There was no rest for Vash the Stampede, even if the people on the planet Gunsmoke had forgotten his legend from so many years go. These people that Vash tried to protect, even as Knives tried to kill them all...Vash roused himself from the sad thoughts, and decided that whoever she was, it was Vash's duty to find the woman and try to stop her from killing more people. He felt oddly connected to her, and since he wasn't doing anything with his life at the moment anyway, why not go after her? How hard could it be to find her? ::So where did she go anyways? Well, she said West, so that is definitely out. Might as well forget about East, going in the opposite direction would be too obvious. North or South? Just where are you going...and where have you been?:: He tried to remember what towns were in each direction. ::Hmm...wait, is that really big city up North? Yeah! Biggest town in the area. A lot of information to be found there...yea, I'll bet she went North!:: So Vash got on his Thomas and began his trek further and further from his goal.

*~*

Riding her horse at a fair jog, Trieste heaved a sigh. The sun was now high in the sky, shining down on her in a blinding fashion. It would be a three day ride to get the town of Little Rhode, a ride she wasn't particularly looking forward to, especially with the wounded shoulder. As she rode, Vash drifted out of her mind and he was replaced by another. HIM. Her reason for going on. Yes, it was the thought of *him* that made her get up when she was all too ready to just lay down and give up. Legato was, when she couldn't seem to bear her situation any longer, the reason she did not put a bullet in her brain; she had to put one in his first. ::Goddamn you, Legato. Damn you for this life. You took my everything. Now I'm coming for you and I won't back down. I will not bow, I can't forget things you did. I will make you suffer, I swear. I will not stop riding until I am at your doorstep and no one will stop me from killing you.:: Her thoughts swirled around her mother, if only...that was what filled her head every night, the if only's and the what if's. What would her life be like had Legato never played a part? Maybe she would actually be happy. Maybe she wouldn't spend half her time sleeping in the empty dessert, wearing the same cloths for weeks at a time, dressing like a man, unable to enjoy the company of another human being.

::Ah, hell. What's the point? I'll have my release, oh so soon. I can almost taste you, Legato. Come find me, you bastard.:: And her mind emptied itself of all thoughts except the pale sand ahead, the small town behind, and the searing hollowness of her surroundings. Her rides were mindless, thoughtless, almost trance like. She never rode her horse too hard because she didn't want it tired out, but always at a good pace so she could get where she was going. The nights were spent around a fire made of whatever Trieste brought to burn, and if it got too cold she would cover her horse first and then use whatever was left for herself. She slept at her horse's discretion, figuring that, as a human, she was more adaptable to a situation than her beast of burden. Her gun was always halfway unholstered, in case 'wanderers' found her small camp worth investigating. When she rode near water, she bathed herself, her horse, and her clothing. The rare times it rained, she pulled all her clothing out and set it all on stones and large rocks. It also made good, cheap drinking water. She also used the heavy sleeping blankets as protection from sandstorms that sometimes blew around the desserts. Her money was always kept on an inside pocket she had sewn onto most of her shirts and pants, though she never had a large amount of it anyway. Her cloths were made of durable fiber, but weather, time, and rough handling had weakened seams, faded colors, thinned material to the breaking point. She didn't own a single piece of clothing that was not sewn or patched up, even her pajamas; there had been plenty of times when she escaped and ridden in them. Only her cloak was holding up well, a few stitches needed here and there where the hood and cape attached to each other. Trieste spent the most money on her boots, which often got walked to pieces, and taking care of her sometimes expensive horse, a rarely seen animal on her planet. The little amount of money she made was received sometimes through odd jobs, but mostly petty theft-slight of hand tricks. Sometimes she pawned jewelry and things she picked up, such as the pearl necklace she had quickly lifted off one of the dead thieves in the bar. It would buy her a meal or two. The idea of stealing had long, long ago ceased to cause any guilt or qualms.

'Oh, Miss, don't worry. We'll be done soon enough.' She patted her horse's neck affectionately. And after a while, her mind lost itself in the desert. Her three day journey had begun.

*~*