Disclaimer: *Sighs* You know, with being grounded and all, you'd think I'd have time to think of a witty disclaimer. Well no dice, I don't own Trigun.

Chapter Thirty-Five:

A/N: The answer to all those uber-short chappies I've been writing lately.

Tears poured over Rhianne's eyelids, despite her effort to keep them at bay. Gods, it hurt to say those words. It hurt like a piece of ice shattering in her heart, spreading a terrible numbness throughout her; allowing the crushing sense of reality to sink in like a poison in her veins, halting the flow of blood. She could nearly feel it, her heart beating, yet no blood coursing through her, ready to fill her with the determination that she so desired in her situation. Her blood felt frozen in her very veins, halted by her realization of her intentions. Turned to stone in her body, weighing her down and slowing her thoughts until they were nearly stopped completely.

"You can't be serious" he stated. Simply, as though it were nothing, a mere overreaction to a trivial issue "you can't leave Knives."

"Oh can't I?" she challenged, placing her hands on her hips defiantly. Her eyes burned with anger, hurt and humiliation that shone dangerously in her pupils "and why should I stay? Look what he tried to do to me!" she flung open the cloth, displaying the bruises and scratches spotting her body. Sickly, eggplant purple spots dotted her wrists, while scratches and other, more brownish bruises doted the rest of her torso. Red marks trailed up her neck, love bites from Vash's brother.

"Oh gods…" Vash gasped, involuntarily covering his mouth with his prosthetic hand. Her body was a battleground of color; mixing and blurring at the edges of her pale skin, flushed with anger and humiliation. The reds, the flushed pink of her skin, the fading poppy red of where he had struck her, sliding slowly into the ivory of her flesh, reminding him of the way the colors faded into one another on the tender petal of a rose. And truly, this woman, who bared herself, and her faults and mistakes before his eyes with a moving sense of honesty- as if to say that she accepted the consequences of her actions, be they of her own will or not- was a rose if there ever was one. Scratches slashed through the tender, rose-like quality of her skin, bruising and marring it like they would a real petal. Maroon bruises, spotty and sickeningly ripe, dominated any expanse of skin not already discolored; fading into a sickly, swampy yellow that reminded Vash of the pus that leaked from an infected wound, pushing to the red surface of the skin like a bad memory. Rhianne's lip, slip open and cherry with blood, quivered at the bombardment of emotions that seemed to consume her whole. "You see?" she spat "this is what he did to me; do you expect me to stay here when this" she pointed to the dark shadow between her thighs "is all I'm worth to him?"

"Rhianne, Knives is just upset and-"

"I won't have it Vash!" she cried, throwing the cloth around herself and falling to her knees. She remembered the last time she had done that, and recalled all too clearly the biting pain of the bullets that had embedded themselves into her flesh as she pressed against them; the blood that seeped out of the holes in her flesh and into the sand. The pain was overwhelming, crashing down upon her like a wave upon the sand; yet it paled in comparison to the pain she felt now. The crushing sense of humiliation, of knowing she had been used, and of knowing that all she was to Knives was a means of physical pleasure; to sit there and have him force himself into her whenever he pleased.

"I can't stay here and live a life like this! Just some toy for Knives to use when he wants to get off! I feel like that's all he sees in me, and I won't stick around and have him force himself on me"

"Maybe you should talk it over with him" Vash intersected quietly. She sighed angrily, "I have no interest in talking to Knives right now, if ever again" she snarled, her voice sounding far more aggressive than she'd meant for it so be. She crouched next to him, placing a gentle hand on his knee "Vash, I'm sorry if I've upset you. I'm really upset right now, too, and I apologize if I've upset you any more. But" she wiped a tear from her cheek "I can't stay here; not with him the way he is."

"But.." Vash started to feebly protest, raising his downcast gaze to meet hers. "No" Rhianne stated, pressing a finger to his lips "I'm leaving. That's final." Large, hopeful eyes that mirrored her distinctive color met her own "can't I change your mind?" he asked one last time.

"No Vash; you can't" she stated, rising "but you know what you can help me with?"

"What's that?" came the reply as they went to the door.

"I need clothes; do you have my things I bought?" she asked, turning back to him. A slight blush rose to his cheekbones "funny thing about that…" he trailed off, placing a hand behind his head in a rather comical fashion. The brunette cocked an eyebrow "what happened to my stuff?" she asked dangerously.

"Well, you see…"

she must never know…

"We were sort of in a rush when we left town, you know?" he replied promptly. He was worried she's pry, but her finely plucked brow slid gracefully back into it's natural curve and she walked out into the hallway.

"Which way is your room? I'll have to wear some of your clothes" she said, turning to face him again. Vash looked thoughtful for a moment, then crossed his arms in front of himself, pointed one hand towards the ceiling and one towards the hallway to their right

"There's about a hundred ways to get there from here; take your pick" he stated, smiling a little "which way's the fastest?" Rhianne asked.

"Nuh…. That way, then down the stairs and to the left" Vash motioned to the right corridor with his head and unwound his arms. Rhianne shrugged and started to walk in that direction, Vash in tow. They walked to the end of the corridor in silence, Rhianne stewing in her anger and Vash too smart to poke at her when she was in such a state. He gazed silently at her as they walked, pitying her almost as he pitied his narrow-minded brother. She had given her heart to Knives, and he had tried to use her instead of loving her; pushing her away time and time again. After so much rejection, he supposed, she must have gotten tired of it. He could understand why; it was so difficult to be hurt by someone you loved. He knew from experience. She looked so lost and forlorn; dejected and sad; she reminded Vash of himself, wallowing in his self-pity all those years. He remembered the feeling of isolation, of feeling completely and inexorably alone. She looked just that way, as though the world had forgotten her, given the leftovers of life. She sniffled, a tear sliding slowly down her cheek, and he couldn't resist; he moved in front of her and pulled her into his arms in an embrace.

"Vash?" she murmured, her voice choked with emotion and tears. "Shh" he crooned, gathering her up in his arms. He remembered how he had felt, wishing someone could hold him until he felt better; and no one had ever been around to. I'm not letting her feel the same way; she isn't alone he thought fiercely as he carried her down the hall; Rhianne with her arms draped around his neck and sobbing softly into his shoulder. She closed her eyes, her sobs hushed by the lulling sound of Vash's breath. She cradled her head between his neck and shoulder, her ear pressed against the folds of his light blue shirt. Her eyelashes fluttered against the fabric like ravens upon the afternoon sky; and, enshrined in a temple of self-induced darkness, she felt his smell wrap around her like a silken scarf. She could smell the sand on him, ground into his skin over years of travelling; the starch of his shirt, fresh and clean against the smell of his light perspiration; and the scent of gunpowder, a familiar odor that had embedded itself in him like another scar into him after decades of companionship. His rhythmic breathing calmed her as she let her breath flow in time with his; marveling at how having such a small connection with him soothed her so much. His steps quickened as he went down the stairs, and he managed to glide a hand under her hair, cupping her skull and stopping it from bouncing against his shoulder. She leaned against it gratefully, feeling his fingers graze her skin and sighing as her hair moved between his fingers. They descended the stairs and traveled the length of the hallway; Rhianne moving her fingers slowly along his back, feeling the bumps and grooves beneath the intertwining threads of his shirt.

She placed an open hand against his chest, feeling the rising and falling as he breathed, the way his muscles tensed and relaxed with each breath he took. She could hear his blood flow, how the muscles pulled and contracted against each other, the beating of his heart, the swell of his lungs as they filled with air, the softness of his skin beneath his shirt, were all beneath her slender fingertips; and she focused on the sounds and the feelings of these things. Because his body was like a silent orchestra playing in perfect harmony; each part of him acting a role, playing a part of the tune, crying part of the call, and singing a small part of the song of life.

Everything seemed to jerk for a moment, causing Rhianne to open her eyes. The arm supporting her back moved, fording her to take grip on his shoulders as to not fall. The realization hit her then that they must have arrived at Vash's quarters as the male plant took a step forward before shutting the door quietly behind him. As his arm came back to cradle her head and take the weight of her back, Rhianne felt his biceps tense as he took a few steps to his bed. There, upon blankets he had dyed red himself did he place her. Her eyes gazed up at him, speaking volumes of gratitude that no words would ever say; that no sound nor motion could ever grasp. Her hair, though knotted and tangled, seemed vibrant and alive against the red blankets, as though the chestnut halo framing her ivory face danced in gratitude.

She watched him through her lashes as he moved around the room, hastily grabbing things he thought they would need. A smile parted her lips as he scurried about the room, grabbing a shirt off a hanger and a lone sock from a drawer, then quickly stuffing them into the cylinder-shaped travelling pack. Every minute or so he'd throw an item of clothing in her direction, apologizing incessantly for packing so hurriedly. Holding her cloth to herself, Rhianne sat up on the bed and surveyed the assortment of clothes she was to chose from. Her brows knotted together between her eyes for a moment before travelling to the broom-haired man, who was in the process of pulling a small black cat from under the bed. He looked at it stupidly, and the animal gazed back with the same blank expression; they stayed that way for a moment before he threw it over his shoulder as the cat mewed 'nyah'.

"Vash" she prodded as he pulled a boot from under the bed "this may sound stupid; but you don't have any…underwear for girls, do you?"

He froze in the action of throwing an orange and green tie over his shoulder and averted his gaze from hers. "Vash?" the female asked again as a furious color of red bloomed in his cheeks "do you have any-"

"I heard you" he stated, his voice monotone. Holding the cloth, Rhianne crawled over to him and met his downcast gaze by lifting his chin up "well, do you?" she asked. Vash covered his eyes and pointed to a small box in the corner of the room. She followed his gaze and rose, crouching next to the box and hesitantly lifting the lid. She inhaled deeply and plunged her hand into the box, it emerged a moment later, a pair of lacy red panties hooked over her index finger.

"Vash" she stated somberly at the furiously flushing gunman, who was trying in vain to hide under the bed "why do you have women's underwear in your room?"

"Well Meryl was gone away so long that I kept some of her things to remind me of her…" he stated, looking flustered and tapping his index fingers together. Rhianne leaned in towards the panties hesitantly "well are they at least clean?" she asked, crinkling her nose.

Silence.

"Ew! Vash!" she screamed, throwing the box at him, thoroughly disgusted. It landed atop his head, pouring the contents over his face as he fell backwards at the impact "that's the most disgusting thing I've ever heard!" she cried, shaking her hands and wiping them on the cloth. He sat back up, removing a black bra from his hair. In a manner that Rhianne found most disgusting, he brought the fabric to his nose and sniffed it with vigor, his face aglow. But, yet, after a moment, his face drooped with disappointment

"This one's clean" he stated, handing it to her. Rhianne picked it from his hand gingerly, not quite sure weather or not she would feel comfortable wearing someone else's underwear- particularly Vash's girlfriend's. "Okay then Vash, find me a clean bottom pair" she stated, wrinkling her nose and turning to the pile of clothes on the bed; not particularly wanting to see him in the process of finding a clean pair. She gazed at the clothes laid out before her; all probably too big (as Vash was a few inches tall than her) Besides, his clothes were rather bland, and she much preferred the red overcoat he'd been wearing before. It had been nothing like the one she had seen on the television programs about him back home; a huge thing with billions of buttons and straps. The coat he had been wearing when she had first seen him had been a simple red trench coat, doing up with small clasps up the front. Thinking about how much she'd like to borrow that coat, Rhianne chose a beige top and black pants, both of which turned out to only be an inch or so too long by her estimation.

"Vash?" she called over her shoulder, not looking back "have you found a clean pair yet?" she heard him mutter something indiscernible in an amorous tone, and sighed "Vash, stop being a pervert and throw me a clean pair, will you?" she stated, her voice thick with annoyance. She suddenly felt several thuds against the back of her head, and took it to be the clean pairs. Instructing Vash to leave, she set to dressing. As she heard the door close, she dropped the cloth to the floor, then allowing a sigh to fall from her lips. She didn't want Vash's pity. She didn't want anyone to pity her; it made her feel too weak. And that's precisely how she felt, she concluded as she strapped the bra in place. What Knives had tried to do had taken her completely off-guard, caught her at one of her weakest moments, and had made her feel as though she had no control over anything anymore. She felt helpless, like a damsel in distress with no knight to save her. Perhaps, she pondered, that was what Vash was trying to be? Her knight in shining armor? Ready to rush in on his white horse and save her from the clutches of the evil knight? The only problem she could see with that scenario was that she didn't want to be saved from the evil knight; she just wanted the evil knight to love her as she did him. Wasn't that quite the twist on the old fairy-tale, she smiled, pulling the shirt over her head. Although she was bothered by Vash's pity for her, she could understand why he was so concerned about her; having spent years alone, wandering the desolate desert by himself must have taken a toll on him. The idea had crossed her mind that Vash might like her, but had dismissed it as soon as she had realizes that he had a girlfriend. She must be a nice girl to have gotten Vash's attention She smiled, slipping on her pants over her underwear.

"Vash" she called, rising and folding the blanket as Vash entered. She thanked him as she gently packed the blanket on top of the other items in the bag, Vash accepting her thanks gracefully as he tied up the top of the bag, Rhianne donning an extra pair of boots he had left for her. Neither said anything as they left the room, both wondering what awaited them; and neither al too eager to have their questions answered.

An uncomfortable silence descended upon them; a pregnant pause in which Rhianne's seed of anxiety was fertilized by Vash's seed of discomfort. Neither would admit it, but they were both secretly dreading their exit; and what would inevitably await them when they arrived. The confrontation would most likely be nothing short of brutal, with bloodshed an inescapably real option. Mentally, they concluded that they would rather it not come to that; but weren't afraid to spill the blood of the ice-eyed plant should things escalate. Rhianne agreed with the blond plant when he stated he would not kill his brother should it come down to it; she didn't care to wound the wheat-haired man at all, but knew of the importance her exit would play in her life on Gunsmoke. She hoped fervently she wouldn't have to spill Knives' blood in order to leave, but was more than willing to do so should the situation demand it.

The thought was still fresh in her mind when they came to the door; and, more precisely, the figure slumped before it, a colt clutched tightly in his hand.

"Knives" Vash said, stepping into a beam of light falling through a small window some twenty feet up, his eyes narrowed and his hand reaching for the gun riding at his hip "let us through"

A small chuckle came from Knives' silhouette "are you going to shoot me Vash?" he asked mockingly. Vash bit his lip and aimed it at his brother, his muscles clenched, his trigger finger quivering in anticipation and fear

"If I have to"