"Yo, Milly! Can I get you something? You hungry? Thirsty? Need a backrub?"
"Uh…" Milly sat up in her chair and lowered her pencil, blinking up at him in overwhelmed stupefaction. She looked around as though expecting someone else to be standing there. "Me?"
Vash gave her his best smile. "You're always taking care of everyone else, so I figured it was time someone took care of you."
It took a moment for her to take him seriously. He knew it would. But when she did, he got the pleasure of seeing those sky blue eyes of hers radiate with shy appreciation. Her cheeks colored. "I'm fine. Really. But that's so kind of you, Mr. Vash. No one has uh...ever offered to take care of me before. Heh."
"Call me Vash. We've worked together long enough, haven't we?" He swiveled a chair around, and straddled it, resting his arms on its back to face her. He was delighted to have found her in a more quiet corner of the ship. "This entire community is indebted to you, you know. For saving us the other day."
"Oh, that," she batted at the air as though it were nothing. "Those men were angry, but still sensible. Anyone could have talked them out of it."
Vash shook his head at her modesty. "Oh, I doubt that."
She grew increasingly shy as Vash grinned away. He couldn't help it. He reflected back with a serious case of hero-worship. A hundred men! Despite her oblivious demeanor, he always knew she had this innate gift to read a situation with uncanny accuracy. But he'd never appreciated it until two days ago when she blew his whole perception of her by neutralizing what could have been a catastrophe. He'd been so relieved, he nearly cried. "So what exactly did you say to that militia out there?"
She looked relieved that he was talking, and exhaled in a light laugh. "Well," she shrugged and stood, turning to file some of her paperwork on a shelf. "Not much, really. Just showed them who the angels were that they'd been living off of all this time."
"Is that right?" he said, his interest being divided between her words and her. Always wearing those same faded overalls. Pony tail, with a small ribbon. Always modest, never one for adornment. But that was Milly. A spontaneous wonderment caused a picture to pop up in his head of what she'd look like if she decked herself out; perhaps a snug sleeveless black dress that hugged her curves instead of hiding them...hair half up, half down, with deliberatley stray wisps framing her face in an elegant array. And a touch of lipstick, to contrast with the fairy-blue dynamic of those bright, long-lashed eyes...
Vash's expression froze as his mind did a double-take. The visual was almost shocking.
"…half way through, and let them know that you and Knives would probably rip their limbs off and shove them down their throats if they tried."
His smile straightened. "You said what?"
She laughed and cocked her head. "Just kidding. You didn't seem like you were paying attention."
It took his heart a second to slow back down, and when it did, he laughed. She was toying with him. But before he could jest back, his sisters chose just that moment to start arguing down the hall. He heard them, and cursed inwardly. He was reluctant to get up and intervene. Maybe they would just work it out themselves…
Milly's demeanor changed to concern. "We should stop them before Knives hears."
Vash smacked his forehead. Dangit. That's right. Knives is still here. With a heavy sigh and rolling of the eyes, he jumped up and bolted down the hall to find Mr. Thompson surrounded by a half dozen angels.
"Oh no, really girls. I have to finish up this blueprint. And then I'll play a game of cards with you, Minmae."
Loud, screeching protest. And Mr. Thompson backpedaled. "I mean Julie! Er, both of you! N-no. All of you!" A sweatdrop beaded down his brow.
"Minmae! Julie!" Vash hissed, singling out the two biggest enemies. Their contentions were so irrational as of late, and it scared Vash more than once to feel the odious vibes they emitted when they fought. Beyond anger. Almost like they were warring in a survival of the fittest, like two alpha males.
Their heads snapped up at his voice, and only offered mild resistance as he got each in a gentle headlock under his armpits. "Knock it off, ladies. Knives is here."
Minmae subsided, but Julie was still fierce. "She's always taking m-mine! M-my work. M-my cheery apples. My human!"
Minmae boiled right back up and swiped at her sister, and a couple of the surrounding angels shouted. Vash spun Julie against the wall and tightened his hold on Minmae's neck, his usual patient demeanor with them was quickly being undermined by a growing dread. A dread that he might not be able to keep the truth from Knives much longer.
"Ladies, ladies! Please!" he begged. "Just shelve it for now. Then I'll let you fight all you want when he leaves. Okay?" It was a lie, but he was desperate. Maybe it would placate them at least a little longer.
Tensions dissipated to a tolerable level, and he let Minmae go, but not without pegging Julie with a glare. "You absolutely have to behave. I mean it. We can't have this going on while Knives is here. Now can you be friends?"
Minmae spat, and Julie hissed, both stomping off in opposite directions, their white streaked hair jangling with electricity. Vash took a deep breath and shook his head. There was a light hand on his back, and he turned to see Milly there with more worry than hospitality in her face.
"It's sad how quickly they forget they're on the same side…" she said. "Family should never fight like that."
He waited until they both disappeared, then ran a shaky hand through his hair. Beyja came jogging up, quickly assessing that there'd been another altercation. She recognized Vash's distress immediately. "We'll keep them separated. Don't worry."
Rueful smile. Vash headed off, tossing over his shoulder, "I'm going to make sure Knives didn't catch any of that negative vibe." He moved quickly through the garden chamber, and down a long hallway to a main area where many of the angels spent time teaching each other language, and obsessing over styles. Seeing the tranquil groupings calmed him somewhat. Thank heavens there were just a few contentious ones.
He waved politely as he passed, most seeming to be disinterested in his presence, which was fine. He looked up to an overhang that they had crafted as the population grew. Almost like a balcony, connected to Knives' control room.
Vash gulped. Sure enough, his brother was up there, those hard blue eyes searching the large chamber for something and then frowning when they locked on Vash. Vash grinned hugely, and waved, hoping to distract him.
Then he ambled up the levels, skipping three steps at a time, and burst into the control room with a cheery, "Yo, Knives!"
Knives' profile was unmoving as he watched the congregating area below, arms folded, expression set. Even his hair was reminiscent of a stone sentinel that wasn't given to whim or light-heartedness. Vash took a deep breath, put his face back on and joined his brother, leaning casually against the metal railing. He hoped and prayed that the altercation between their sisters had gone unnoticed.
"You really could use something lively in here, Knives. A few plants. Some brightly colored paintings…" Vash tipped his head to better see his brother's face. His cursed unreadable face. "Eden is finally getting overpopulated," he said, aiming for casual conversation. "Which is a great sign, because it means we're almost done. So Mr. Thompson is drawing up some plans for a sister city so we'll have more space for when the rest are liberated—"
"Vash…" Knives' tone was dark. Pensive. He spoke without turning to him, his fine blonde brow furrowed just the slightest.
Vash held his breath, and waited.
"Did you ever…" Knives pursed his lips, his frown deepening.
"Did I ever what?" Vask asked.
"Did you ever find her?" Knives turned to him then, and for all his practiced reticence, there was an honest anxiety creasing his face. He looked vulnerable. Vash's eyes widened in alarm, and he straightened.
"Did I ever find who, Knives?"
Pause. Knives' hands curled into fists. "Our mother."
The words hit Vash like an anvil to the chest. Of all the topics he'd anticipated he'd have with his brother, Vash had neglected to prep himself for this. His throat constricted. So many bad memories… "Knives. I… I don't think--"
"Tell me!!" Taking his hesitance for an affirmative, Knives' demeanor had flipped, and he was suddenly in Vash's face. "You know something! I can see it in your eyes!"
"He never…told you…?"
"Who!? Never told me what!?"
Vash found himself slammed against the wall, with Knives' fists in his collar. His jaw muscles jumped, and his teeth, clenched. But Vash knew Knives' aggression was just a cover. Perhaps he was preparing himself for the worst.
But the worst was beyond his imaginings. He had no idea…
"I've searched for her," Knives hissed. "My memory of her is perfect. She had to have survived the crash…"
"She… She survived the Great Fall," Vash answered, not missing how Knives flinched when The Fall was said out loud. As well he should. He'd single-handedly sent millions of innocent lives to horrible deaths, both humans and angels. Vash had often wondered how at peace - really - he was with that day.
"Did the plant engineers bleed her dry!?" Knives was shaking now, his wrath ricocheting throughout his entire body. Vash rested light hands on his brother's forearms, and held his frantic gaze until Knives' fingers relaxed.
"No. Humans did not kill her."
His eyes widened, a flicker of hope. "Then she's still alive?"
"No."
Knives' hands fell slowly to his sides. "Tell me," he breathed.
Vash gave in. Not because he felt Knives would cope well with the answer, but because he quite simply couldn't keep the answer from him. "She was in July, Knives."
Five small words, and they could have been a blow to the gut for all the effect it had on him. A small, stunned exhale came from Knives' lips. He took a shaky step back and raised one arm as though to retract the truth, and then he grimaced and turned away, curling his fingers over the railing and hanging his head low between his shoulders. Vash watched his knuckles turn white as he clutched at it, rocking slowly back and forth on his heels, as though to transfer guilt with motion.
Echoes of Vash's life in July came haunting back. Of friends. Much laughter. Family. There was a reason he'd stayed in July for so many years, that had nothing to do with occupation or mankind. He flinched at the painful recollection, giving way to a darker sentiment like a puddle evaporating in the noon heat. Suddenly Knives' emotional well-being wasn't so important. Vash's compassion was quickly swallowed up in a boiling resentment that he thought he'd overcome. He tried to fight it, but it was too strong. Confronting Knives about that day brought it all back.
"Yes, brother," he said with shaky vocal cords, his words trolling out like a death sentence. "You killed her. With that damn angel arm you forced onto me. You pulled the pin out of a nuclear grenade, when you didn't even think twice about the angels' lives that would be sacrificed." Vash's own hands clenched into fists. "Did you know the explosion would be that big?" he trembled. "Did you!?"
Knives stopped rocking, but he didn't look up. After a moment, his head bobbed once. A nod. Curbing an intense urge to pummel him senseless, Vash turned around and punched a hole in the wall. "Damn you..."
A pregnant silence followed, wherein Vash tried to lock the memories back in the recesses of his mind, where they couldn't cloud his thoughts with bitterness and hate.
It was hard.
"Did you… Did you talk with her?" Knives asked, his voice raw, muffled.
Vash took a deep breath, and blinked the moisture from his eyes. "Of course I talked to her. I talked to her all the time." He swallowed past the lump in his throat, remembering his many excursions to the local generator, and her gentle face through the glass. "She was full of compassion. Of curiosity. And she adored people. So much so that she fell in love with the son of one of the engineers that created her."
Knives' brows raised, and he lifted his flushed face. Vash grimaced at a too-clear memory from when Knives had murdered their biological grandfather. Gutted him, and left his body in the desert. It was one of the few moments Vash had actually felt his brother across the planet, and had known exactly what he'd done.
"It's no wonder Conrad never told you," Vash said somberly. "But then, I guess you would have killed him either way."
Knives's face turned ashen as he uncurled from his bent position like a possum in the throes of death. "Conrad? H-He was our...?"
"Yes."
Vash didn't have to say 'Grandfather'. He didn't have to reiterate that Knives had slain both their bloodlines. He also didn't have to inform Knives that it meant at least 50% of him was 100% of the species he hated most. By the speechless wide-eyed horror on his brother's green face, it was obvious that he got it quite clearly.
Vash quietly watched him as he stumbled back, leaning heavily against the railing for support… His eyes were frantic, bouncing from the ground to Vash, to his control room, back to the ground. A small whimpering sound emanated from his throat. His teeth clenched and eyes scrunched shut.
Vash let the self-denial run its course. Knives would pull out of it. The rationale behind his motives was still untouched. The angels were still an unblemished breed in his mind, and every action of his past was validated because of that belief. So the macabre self guilt he was feeling from the newfound blood on his hands, coupled with the self-hate from learning the truth of his heritage, would not break him. It might take the piss and vinegar out of his personality for a while, but he'd pull out of it. Because the angels were still better than mankind to him. Still worth saving
You'll be fine, brother. Let this humble you, a light to this dark moment lifted one corner of his mouth. And hopefully your unacknowledged love for Meryl can do the rest.
Vash went over to rest a hand on Knives' back when a wailing shriek from below made both their heads swivel.
Vash's breath caught in his throat. No…
Two animated flurries wove through the clusters of angels, one with an armful of fruit, the other behind her in hot pursuit. Mortified, Vash instantly recognized them as Pepper and Lela. Their lips were pulled back over their four rows of teeth in a feral aggression. And a mental shout pierced his awareness as Lela caught Pepper's hair and yanked. Give now! MINE!
Pepper screamed, half-turned, and raked her nails across her sister's face. Vash's heart just about stopped. An attack like that by a human would have left a few scratches. But by a plant angel? The perfect porcelain skin of Lela's cheek now dangled from her skull in crimson flaps as blood poured down her neck and shoulder.
Blood was drawn. That had never happened before.
He cried out in horrified denial, and a heady cocktail of confusion, disbelief, and horror slammed into his awareness from this right. He turned to see Knives' widening stare locked on the scene below.
Shit shit shit! Vash made a fist, torn between tackling him to the ground and beating the memory from him, or jumping down to intervene.
"Stop fighting!" Angela came running in with Bejya and Meryl behind her. "Stop it!! It's food! You can make more of it!" Angela came to a skidding halt when she saw the blood, falling to her knees in abject horror. Bejya leapfrogged over her, only to be backhanded by Lela when she tried to place herself between them.
Bejya fell in a crumpled heap several yards back, with surrounding angels up on their feet, some screaming, some crying, some grunting with distress…
Someone had to stop it. With one last pained look at his stupefied brother, Vash swung both his legs up and over the banister and fell forty feet below, rolling when he hit. When he popped up, Lela and Pepper were nothing more than a flurry of limbs. Angels that tried to stop them were barred by their respective posses, which in turn ignited more violent reactions.
The screaming became deafening. Vash bludgeoned his way through the crowd, with his hands over his ears, but a sickening dull pop made him stumble. The angels went rigid at the sound.
At first Vash saw it in his peripheral vision. A lobbed, rounded object arching through the air. His gut reaction was that it was the bowl of fruit. Of course that would be the first thing tossed. But then too-curious eyes followed, and he saw that it had hair.
And a face.
He inhaled with a choked gasp, and clutched his chest. The shock rendered him speechless. When it landed with a soft thud, the strength left Vash's legs.
The fight had ended itself. The dead silence ended itself. He wasn't the only one who collapsed to the ground in great sobbing hiccups.
.
.
Pepper's decapitated body crumpled in the dirt, the catalyst now being forgotten, and no one moved to reclaim the bowl of fruit as it tipped and emptied. Lela, who was ripped to shreds and covered in blood looked at her offending claws as though surprised to find them attached to her wrists. Then she swayed, and passed out.
Meryl's vision blurred as the tears began to form. Traumatized, she doubled over and nearly retched. But then the sound of Vash's cries reached her ears. She forced her body still, and searched him out in the crowd. He was on all fours, with his fingers digging in the dirt. His sobs wracked his entire body. She made to go to him, but a terrified anguish, more potent than Vash's or his sisters' reactions combined, yanked her attention upwards. Her stomach lurched in her throat as she saw two hands disappear off the inside of the railing.
Knives!
She turned and found Milly standing in horrified silence by the entrance. When they made eye contact, Meryl jerked her chin directionally at Vash and after a moment of collecting herself, Milly nodded.
Meryl took a deep breath and ran for the stairs, making it up four flights in mere seconds. Breathing heavily, she slammed her fist on the door panel, and it whooshed open. And there he was, curled in a ball with his hands ripping at his hair by the roots. His entire body was oscillating, offset by deep throaty hyperventilating.
Her vision blurred, and she ran to him. "Knives…"
He didn't look up, unhearing, unseeing. She knelt down and gingerly felt his arm. He whimpered and recoiled from her touch. Her voice rose. "Knives…"
"No different," he whispered, transmitting more psychological noise than even Meryl could bear. He banged his fists against his skull with each word. "We're no different!"