He awoke to the harsh midday light, blinded by its intensity. Blinking back the darkness hovering in his eyes, he waited paitiently for his sight to adjust. He seemed to be lying on something soft, likely a bed. Faintly, he could feel a slight breeze pass by from an open window.
The silence was disquieting.
Slowly, gradually, he could make out a faint outline seated before him. A figure, watching him; or more accurately, watching over him. The silhouette was tall, towering vaguely over his prone body. It sat perfectly still, never swaying nor moving, never louder than the sound of his own shallow breathing.
He pulled his mouth into a thin smile. "Hello, brother," he uttered, his voice barely more than a dry croak. His lips were cracked and hardened, his mouth a desert wasteland.
He felt something cold pass near his lips. Metallic. "Here," he could hear his brother's voice say. "Drink."
Pure, cold water flowed down his throat, soothing it. He swallowed it greedily, barely tasting it as he drained the cup quickly. He tried to lift himself up when it was taken away, but found he could not, collapsing back on the bed as fire seemed to shoot through his body. Breathing heavily from the pain and exertion, he glared at his twin. "What--- what did you do to me?"
Vash looked down at him sadly, his eyes regretful. "I...you've been wounded badly." He spoke quietly, but did not waver under his brother's gaze. "So I brought you here." He gestured at the small room around them.
"Here," Knives repeated dully, not quite understanding. "Where is here?"
Vash looked off to the side, out the window into the bright light. "Close by," he offered succinctly. "I couldn't afford to move you far." It was all he seemed willing to share at the moment.
Fleeting memories skittered through Knives's mind: a small white table in the midst of a garden--- the sound of gunplay flashing in the air--- the dark light of the angel arms, swirling together in a deadly dance.
The sound of five simple gunshots, precisely aimed.
"How...very kind of you," he whispered softly. If his tone held a note of sarcasm, his brother chose not to notice. "How long have I been asleep?"
"You need to rest now," Vash told him in that quiet voice, not answering his question. "You shouldn't strain yourself too much--- Meryl said you need to lie still or you'll start bleeding again."
His eyelids began to feel heavy, all of a sudden.
"Meryl?" Knives asked suspiciously, fighting off the drowsiness that threatened to overtake him. He did not like the sound of the name. That meant one of them was here.
"You'll see," Vash said placatingly. "Everything will be all right now. You'll see," he repeated firmly. Reaching out, he held tightly onto Knives's hand and smiled warmly, as if to reassure him of this truth.
It had quite the opposite effect.
"We'll see," Knives whispered, pulling his hand away despite the pain. "Then we'll judge whether everything will be all right," he rasped sharply, his echoing words mocking his brother's reassurances.
Silence filled the room, a yawning gap suddenly between them. Long minutes passed, and neither brother spoke a word.
"There will be someone here at all times to take care of you," Vash finally continued. He leaned away from his twin, distancing himself reluctantly. The sadness had returned to his eyes, the sorrow even stronger than before.
"You won't be here?" Knives's voice caught for a fleeting moment, that queer mix of anger and pleading he had always held hidden within his tone.
Vash paused, as if reconsidering.
"Sometimes," Vash finally replied. "Not always."
He was cutting the strings. Again.
"Don't leave me here," Knives whispered, half begging, half threatening his brother. "You can't leave me here."
He could feel unconsciousness stalking him, ready to pounce upon his psyche. It wasn't a natural impulse. He never should have taken the water. But then again, he had never dreamed his brother would be--- could ever be--- that devious. That deceptive.
"Sleep well, brother," Vash murmured, drawing away from the bed.
"Don't you dare leave me alone again!" Knives hissed furiously, silently cursing his helplessness. He reached out a hand to grasp his brother's arm, but he was already gone.
"Bastard..." he breathed, before the edges of his consciousness slipped away, back into the darkness.
*****************
Vash stirred, unsettled from his sleep. His body was drenched in sweat and twisted into the bedcovers, the thick cloth laying uncomfortably hot against his skin. Standing, he shrugged out of them quickly, opening the window above his bed to breathe in the welcome cold night air.
He lifted a hand to his face, feeling vaguely disturbed. Something nagged him at the back of his mind, but skittered away elusively when he tried to bring it forward into consciousness.
It felt important.
A light cut across the room, pouring suddenly from the opening door. He smiled to himself, not turning around. He knew who it was already. The door shut again quietly, restoring the former darkness as padded feet approached him.
She seemed to have acquired a sixth sense over time, at least when it involved him. Perhaps it was simply experience gained from living with him over the past months --- but he privately felt it was more than just that. They shared a common bond.
In either case, she was here. As she always was, when he felt troubled.
A feather touch brushed against his bare back, lingering lightly on his scars. He stood still for a moment, closing his eyes and savoring the silence. She waited, patient as ever, for him to break it. Wordlessly, she slipped her arms around his waist and leaned into him. He returned the favor by pulling her more tightly against him.
"You know," he murmured, still gazing out the window, "the stars are always beautiful, no matter what happens."
"Is that so?" Her voice held a measure of amusement, rich and full. "Tell me about the stars." Her voice was low and quiet, like a lover's caress. He shivered pleasantly from the sound of it.
It was a tempting thought to forget about the stars, to leave behind his idle musing. But she had asked a question.
He paused to gather his thoughts. "Despite...despite all the pain, all the sadness on this world...they continue to shine. They give their light freely." A hush descended upon them both as he continued. "They are eternal," he whispered softly, almost to himself.
"Like you," she replied after a pause, a hint of sadness coloring her voice. But not me. The unvoiced thought hung between them. He could feel her head rest upon his back, almost resignedly. In his mind's eye, he could imagine her closing her eyes, quiet melancholy shadowing her features.
Something inside him ached at the thought of her slipping away, with every fleeting second.
He turned to her then, drawing her close to shield her from her sorrow. She huddled in his embrace, so small in comparison. He smiled at her in spite of himself, observing the entirely too large shirt she wore drooping around her shoulders. She had pushed the sleeves back, the cumbersome folds of cloth bunching at her elbows; but it was still entirely too long, lending her the appearance of a small child.
In all this time, he had never touched her. Not in that way, although he had considered the notion seriously. Their relationship balanced a fine line between the passionate and the platonic, and it was always so easy to tip the scales one way or the other. Perhaps it was because of its fragile nature that he hesitated to upset this balance. It seemed such a delicate thing...he feared that it would shatter like glass from the wrong move, the wrong words.
No, that wasn't quite right. He doubted its reality. He feared one day he would wake up, and find it was nothing more than a broken illusion, a mere dream withering away under the heat of the twin suns.
And so there they were, possessing a curious blend of intimate yet distanced mannerisms, too uncertain to turn them into something more familiar.
"Stay with me," he whispered into the darkness. "Please, for tonight, stay here with me." It was an impulsive request, and one he was unsure if he should ask for.
He could see she thought so too, judging from her hesitant reaction. "Is that...wise?" she murmured in quiet protest, drawing back to look at him. She did not say anything more, but he knew what she was truly asking. Is this what you really want?
He almost refused. He almost told her to go back to her room, to forget this sudden fancy that had seized him. But these moments were fleeting, and she would not be there forever. He could feel the sands of time falling even as she spoke.
He drew her back to him, lying down on the soft covers, pulling her close. "Just stay here with me," he whispered into her ear. "Only that, nothing more."
He knew her answer already. She could never deny him anything, not when it was important.
That troubled him sometimes.
*****************
Awakening was an effort, a thrashing struggle for dominance over an insubordinate subconscious. Knives clawed his way out of his disturbed dreams, of blood and screams echoing endlessly in his mind, drowning him with faceless, accusing voices.
They had been following him lately, rising up in his weakest moments to strike at him.
The worst was always her, the one who had cared for him and his brother as her own.
She never spoke, never stirred from her standing pose; she merely watched him with those endlessly forgiving eyes, her arms outstretched lovingly towards him. And he knew in his heart that she bore him no ill will.
Though he killed her a thousand different times, in countless excruciating ways, her expression never wavered. Her forgiveness was complete.
He hated her most for that.
He sat up quickly, shaking his head to clear away the fading images in his mind. He suddenly wished he hadn't, as a wave of dizziness assailed his senses. He leaned back again weakly, giving in reluctantly to the needs of his condition.
The room was dark, almost pitch black. No moonlight shone through the now drawn curtains, and no welcome breeze brushed past his cheek as he took in his surroundings. Faintly, he could hear a soft breathing coming from the corner, like someone in a deep slumber.
"Vash?" he whispered hopefully into the night, hesitantly turning his head towards the sound. He was unsure of what he wished to find.
He realized his mistake as soon as he looked closer at the slumped figure, drowsing contentedly in the small chair. The size was about right, but the hair seemed too long and the shape all wrong to be his brother.
No, it had to be one of them.
He snarled silently at the thought, disgusted by the close proximity. He watched the girl--- for female she was--- with derision, noting that delicate fragility in her face that all mortals seemed to hold. Her breathing was quiet and regular as she lay half-crumpled in her chair, her upper body partly sprawled upon the edge of a table beside her. Her head rested somewhat awkwardly on her arm, teetering dangerously off the table, threatening to spill her entire frame upon the considerably less forgiving floor. Occasionally she would mumble incoherently, her small voice shaping sounds of which only she knew the meaning, stirring fitfully from her own private troubles.
He dismissed her immediately as a typical human.
Beyond the near wall, he could hear two voices, male and female, low and murmuring. Wondering if one of them could be Vash, he strained to listen, trying unsuccessfully to pick out words from the muffled syllables.
It suddenly occurred to him that he might be eavesdropping on a rather private moment. He flushed angrily at the implications, feeling slightly betrayed by his twin, if indeed that was his voice. Alone and abandoned, Knives briefly contemplated hitting the wall, but again acquiesed to the weaknesses of his body.
A sudden crash drew his attention away from his discovery. He found the girl splayed on the ground, blinking confusedly over at him. She had finally lost grip of the table.
"Oh, you're awake," she yawned sleepily, rubbing her eyes absently with curled fingers. She stretched lazily, standing up slowly from her position on the floor. He watched her warily, as one would a wild animal, uncertain if she would strike.
She didn't cut a terribly intimidating figure. Except for her height, everything about her seemed to radiate an aura of kindness and light. The soft brown hair, the baby blue eyes--- even the rumpled pajamas that covered her --- it all smacked of innocence and childhood. Or motherhood; to Knives, it amounted to much the same thing, in the end.
She smiled encouragingly at him, friendly and open. "Are you hungry?" she asked immediately. Her voice was a small girl's, high-pitched and lilting. "I could get you some pudding, if you'd like." Her face became very serious as she leaned forward, her voice lowering conspiratorally. "Pudding is very important, you know. Vash-san and Sempai always forget to get some unless I remind them," she confided to him. She tilted her head at him, assessing his reaction. "Perhaps you would like something else?"
Knives fell silent, uncertain under this barrage of speech. She reminded him of someone, but he refused to acknowledge the recognition. She held out her hand reassuringly, as if offering that same peace that eluded him in dreams.
He stared at it uncomprehendingly, wondering if this were a trick, or if he had merely dreamed that he had awakened. Looking back up at her, opening his mouth to reply.
"No," he whispered softly. He pushed her hand away firmly.
Despite her cheery nature, he could still see that touch of sadness in her eyes--- that bit of sorrow that inevitably all mortals possessed, some better hidden than others. It was that same sadness he saw reflected in his brother's eyes, as he gazed upon the tragedy inherent in their empty, flickering lives.
"I don't need anything from you."
It was Knives's firm belief that neither he nor his brother would ever have known sorrow, if it weren't for these humans.
He could never forgive them for that.
*****************
She awoke to an empty bed.
Morning light streamed in from the window, harsh and unforgiving. Absently, Meryl rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Idly, she wondered when the window had moved.
Memory filtered in with the sunlight as her mind unclouded. She wasn't in her room. She was in his bed. He wasn't.
Somehow, she wasn't surprised.
She still felt ambivalent about the night before, unsure what to make of it. It had always been this way, this uncertainty and lack of proper boundaries. She had long ago accepted that what existed between them was fluid and mutable, impossible to pin down or classify.
Sometimes she felt like a rag doll, being tossed around like a child's toy.
She could not blame him, not after all he had gone through. It was simply the way things were.
There were times when she wondered if she were nothing more than an emotional crutch, a form of release when he could no longer bear the pain he carried inside. She could see the hurt still seething within him, always threatening to burst out of his cheerful facade.
Sometimes, she wondered if she were merely a replacement for her.
She shied away from such thoughts, pushing them as firmly aside as she did the bedcovers. Standing, she made her way to the kitchen, where she could hear sounds of breakfast being prepared.
He was meticulously arranging a scrambled egg on a plate, looking very serious in his cook's apron. Meryl suppressed a smile at the yellow smiley face placed so prominently on the front. On the stove, another egg was frying noisily, crying out for attention before it became overcooked. Vash continued to ignore it. Faintly, Meryl could detect the scent of slightly burnt toast in the air.
"Oh, you're up," he said, looking at her in the doorway. "I thought I'd make some breakfast," he continued, gesturing helplessly at the plates laid out on the table. Meryl noted the rather dark pieces of toast and the somewhat sad looking egg he had been attempting to fix. He laughed sheepishly. "It...didn't quite turn out the way I planned."
The forgotten egg splattered quite loudly in the pan, demanding to be attended to. Vash quickly turned around, frantically searching for a plate. Meryl calmly handed him one from the table. He accepted it meekly. "I'm not used to cooking," he offered by way of explanation.
"But you've been doing it every other day," she pointed out, struggling not to laugh out loud.
"Yes, but today it's different," he replied, an enigmatic smile creeping onto his face. She gave him an odd look as he transferred the egg to the plate, accepting it from him and placing it on the table. He hummed contentedly to himself as he turned off the stove, preparing to eat. He seemed happier today, albeit clumsier as well.
She shook her head, giving up on trying to understand. "Where's Millie?" she asked, looking around for her partner.
"She's watching Knives." Vash's voice became quieter, his cheerful mood deflating at the sound of the name. "I don't think either of them have woken up yet."
A swelling of sympathy rose within Meryl. Drawing close, she leaned up towards him, kissing him lightly on his cheek. He looked at her, his face a mix of shock and pleasant surprise.
"What was that for?" he asked, his eyes wide and innocent.
She smiled back at him, as unreadable as he was before, hoping desperately that she wasn't blushing. It would ruin the effect. "Just because," she replied enigmatically. He wasn't the only one who could be obscure. "Now, hurry up and eat. We have to get supplies today."
He nodded quickly, following her orders to the letter.
*****************
Supply runs were always...interesting, to say the least.
It was the kindest word Meryl could think of to describe the experience.
"I hurt...." Vash mumbled, holding his head gingerly in his hands.
"It's your own fault," Meryl retorted, stooping down to check his injury. "You should watch where you're going."
"That cat," Vash insisted firmly, "was trying to kill me." He pointed an accusing finger at a small black tabby curled up on a nearby porch. Its golden eyes watched him warily, while its tail twitched restlessly from side to side.
"Myaa," the cat replied in its defense. After a few moments, it apparently dismissed him as a threat, for it turned its back towards him with a sniff, padding back to a shadier corner to rest.
"You tripped over it," Meryl clarified. She tried unsuccessfully to move Vash's hands away from his head, but he stubbornly refused to cooperate. "Don't go blaming the cat for your own clumsiness. Now, will you let me see where it hurts?"
"It willfully and maliciously ran into my path," Vash asserted. "Just look at it, smirking like that! It meant to trip me." He stabbed his finger at the black cat's general direction to emphasize his point. He wrestled his head away from Meryl's grasp, keeping a firm distance between him and the little animal on the porch.
Meryl turned and looked at the feline offender. Come to think of it, it did look rather smug, licking its paw soliticiously. She shook her head, clearing such notions from her mind. Ridiculous. Cats just did not do those sorts of things.
"Vash," she sighed, "just leave the cat alone." She moved toward him again, gently coaxing his arms down, inspecting his head for bumps or wounds. Finding none, she helped him stand once more.
"We need to hurry," she heard him mutter. "He'll wake soon..."
She did not want to think about that.
Carefully picking up the bundles that Vash had dropped when he had so unceremoniously tumbled to the ground, Meryl motioned to him to do the same. There was a lot to carry, and Meryl wished that Millie was there to help. She did not want to remember where Millie was at that moment, though, and so she carried on her task silently.
She tried not to think on whose shift it was next.
*****************
The scent of rich stew caught his senses the next time he awoke. Stirring slowly, he pulled himself up cautiously to find a pair of steady gray eyes watching him from the chair. For a moment he thought he was still dreaming, still caught in a nightmare of kindness before realizing it was a different woman seated before him. There were physical similarities, certainly, but there was something in the way she carried herself that made it clear she was no Rem.
"Are you hungry?" she asked, rising to her feet with the bowl of stew, carrying it to his bed. She didn't bother to wait for his nod, and he quickly found a piping hot spoonful nearing his mouth. She paused outside his lips, waiting for it to cool, the warm steam brushing against his face. He did not deign to blow upon the mouthful to speed the process, nor did she seem to expect him to. After a few moments, he judged it cool enough to eat, and she tipped the soupy mass into his mouth cleanly, letting him catch the spoon with his lips briefly before pulling away again. She stirred the remaining meat pieces in the bowl without a word, repeating the process until he was sated.
He continued staring at her as she put everything away neatly upon a tray, presumably one she had brought with her earlier. She continued to ignore him, stoically performing her duties. He shifted uncomfortably, unused to such blatant indifference.
"Do you have a name?" he whispered harshly, hardly caring about the answer but wanting to break the suddenly insufferable silence.
"Meryl," she answered briefly, still avoiding his eyes. He reached out hesitantly, catching her chin in his hand and tilting her face towards his, stilling her movement. Her skin was cool to the touch, her gaze even colder as she waited for him to satisfy his curiosity. He released her quickly, not wanting to prolong the contact.
"Meryl," he repeated to himself, remembering how his brother had lingered over the word, and the two voices he had heard murmuring to each other the night before. A pang of jealousy settled uncomfortably with the stew in his stomach.
"Come to preach the virtues of humanity?" he sneered, wanting to lash out at her.
"No," she replied calmly, although a tremble marred her voice. She stared unflinchingly into his eyes. "You're old enough by now to decide what you think. You don't need me to tell you what you should be doing."
He suddenly wanted to break her apart where she stood--- wanted to bend her over backwards and snap her spine in half. He wanted to hurt her as he wanted to hurt Rem. The intensity of the emotion left him breathless for a moment, and he struggled to keep it from showing on his face.
He finally settled for a smirk, meeting her gaze with a cockiness he did not feel. "Perhaps you should tell my brother that." His smooth voice lingered unconsciously upon the term, as if unwilling to part with it in her presence.
"He's old enough to know what he's doing too," she told him without hesitation, choosing to overlook the possessiveness in his tone.
"Then why are we here now?" he whispered softly, half to himself. She only shook her head in reply, lapsing into a long silence.
"He does love you, you know," she said finally, breaking the silence again. "This is all for your sake."
Knives snorted, turning his head away. "The road to hell is paved with good intentions," he quoted to her somberly.
"I suppose that would explain you," she observed. That earned her another sharp glance, which she shrugged aside easily.
"He's no different from me," he said, contempt coloring his face as he challenged those clear eyes, far too sharp for their own good. "We both do what we must, to create our own Edens."
"There is a difference," she murmured softly. "He creates and nurtures. You can only destroy."
This time, it was he who had no reply.
He was almost sorry to see her go when she did, leaving him only with confused dreams of Rem, and hazy gray eyes which cleared away the lies and half truths surrounding him. When he awoke later, alone and ashamed, he could still remember the cool touch of her skin upon his hand, wishing he could forget.
Author's notes: Huh. My first attempt at being serious. Hopefully, it wasn't too painful for you all.
Knives is difficult to write, but Millie is even harder. I apologize ahead of time if they seemed terribly out of character(this includes Vash and Meryl as well. Especially Meryl.)
I tried to keep the discussions from becoming philosophical tripe, but I'm not really sure I succeeded at all. I just had this image in my head of Knives and Meryl verbally fencing while he's confined to bed, and that's the image I tried to convey while writing.