Disclaimer: As always, I do not own Trigun. Would sure be cool to own the copyrights and junk – I'd be rich! Or at least, out of the bad financial situation I am in now! (Any paid work out there for a weird fanfic writer? Please?).

JOURNEY OF REMEMBRANCE

Part VII

Silhouettes danced in the dying light of the sunset. A crowd of people beat two figures on the ground with sticks. A few in the crowd carried pitchforks and other sharp farm implements. Two silhouettes stood out from the others, upon a cliff, stark in the fading light. One man was kneeling. One was standing. The standing man's coat tails flapped lightly in the wind. He held a gun to the kneeling man's head. The sound of a single gunshot tore through the heat-stifled air.

"VASH!" Rem awoke screaming. She pawed at her sleeping bag and at the cool sand around it. She gained her bearings and sat up. She put a hand to her head. "Again," she whispered.

She had been experiencing the same dream almost every evening for about a month. She always awoke from that one with a scream. She'd also dreamt lately that Vash was hurt, bedridden, being cared for by someone. She'd felt in that dream that Vash wanted to die. She'd kept telling him that he needed to wake up.

Rem dreamt of her Plant "son" often. Dreams of him always seemed more real than any others she had. He'd speak to her in these dreams, asking for her advice. These were largely lucid dreams. She knew that she was asleep, her body in a different world than her spirit. She would give Vash the best counsel she could think of at the time, then wake up.

Strangely, she rarely dreamt of Knives.

Rem lay back down. Already, the suns were warming the land to the point where the air was stale and clinging. This would be another one of those blazing days that sapped all one's motivation. Weary dreams tugged at the edges of her mind, coaxing her to return to them rather than get up. She got up anyway.

Humming an ancient song, she dressed and packed up her bedroll. She raided a nearby greenquail nest for breakfast, cooking the little eggs in a tiny frying pan over a hastily built fire. She finished eating and cleaning, and then packed up that, heading out on foot. Her latest mount had run off, and she had given up looking for it. If what she had been told was true, a man matching Vash's description was in a city only twelve isles away yet. She decided that she could make it on foot.

Rem did not know how long she'd walked under the glare of the suns. She had sweated and drank her three canteens dry. She saw a grouping of houses on the horizon. There was no shade for her to rest under out here, though she had wanted to. She pressed on toward the houses.

Sometime later, she found herself awakening to the splash of cool water on her face. She found herself stretched out on the hardpan earth, three shadows looming over her. Two were large. One was small.

"Ma'am? Lady? Are you alright?" she heard someone say. Someone was kneeling down next to her. That someone brushed the sweaty hair off her face. Rem replied with a confused "Mwa?"

"Milly, pick her up and bring her inside. I'll take Christopher."

Rem felt herself being lifted by strong arms. She heard another feminine voice speak to her. "You'll be alright, Ma'am. We just need to get you into some shade. Meryl's treated Mr. Vash for heat-exhaustion before, so she knows what she's doing."

Out of her periphery, Rem heard the fuss of a cranky toddler. "Mr. Vash?" she questioned, reaching up a weak arm to hold onto the shoulder of the large woman that was carrying her.

"Yeah," replied the woman. "He's our friend. We live with him and his brother. He and Mr. Knives are out right now in a therapy session. They'll be back before dinner."

Rem heard shod feet thump upon a wooden floor as a sudden wave of dark shade overcame her. She felt herself being laid down. The curious, chubby hands of a child touched her leg. "Don't bother her, Chris," she heard in the voice of the woman that had carried her. She heard more footsteps, then felt a cool, damp cloth on her forehead. "Drink," the somewhat harsher voice of the other woman commanded as she felt the edge of a glass touch her bottom lip.

Rem felt the cold wetness of fresh water slide down her throat, and she was grateful. "Th-Thank you," she managed. She tried to sit up, but a slender hand held her down.

"No," the harsher voice said. "Please, don't get up yet. Rest. You need to cool down."

Rem slowly opened her eyes. She saw the woman sitting beside her on small, wrought iron chair. The woman had a soft, kind face, gray eyes, and short-cropped hair. She had an air of seriousness about her. Rem saw the legs of other woman, who standing beside the first. Her eyes scanned upward, upward, and upward in a seemingly endless quest to find the woman's face. When she did, she saw a mop of dirty-blond hair nearly hiding a compassionate countenance that looked as though it had once been innocent – but had lost that a long time ago. The blonde woman was clutching the hand of a small, dark-haired child. He looked to be only a little more than a year old.

"What is your name?" the first woman asked. "Where were you headed? It's quite dangerous to travel in the desert alone."

"Rem," Rem croaked, forgetting for the moment any of her pseudonyms. "Rem Saverem-Greer. I was headed to Wells... outside of LR... Is this Wells?"

Just then, the front door opened. Two men came through, smiles on their faces. One man leaned upon the side of the other and appeared to be only just to be getting used to the use of his legs after a long period of atrophy. They paused at the doorway just after entering and stared at the woman on the couch.

Rem's eyes widened. She knew them – both of them. One of the men was that which she recognized from many newspaper clippings and wanted posters, as well as from those natural features, which only grow with age, but never truly change. The other she knew immediately, though she had not watched him grow in the same way as she had watched the first from afar.

Meryl rose from her chair. "We found her in the desert, only about five yarz from our doorstep, collapsed from heat-stroke. I suppose we'll send her on her way once she recovers. She said she was headed here, to Wells."

Instead of answering Meryl, Vash rushed to the couch and knelt beside it. Knives nearly fell down, but Milly helped him to stand and guided him to the nearest chair. Christopher climbed into his lap.

Vash regarded Rem's face quizzically. He brushed at her gray bangs lightly. He ran the fingers of his right hand delicately down her cheek. His jaw hung agape and tears began to well in his eyes, just as if he was looking at something impossibly beautiful and sacred.

He grabbed Rem suddenly, giving her a hug that made the small woman's ribs hurt. She felt the hot moisture of his tears upon her hair as he sobbed a strange, garbled mess of words and sounds, both infinitely joyful and infinitely painful.

"What are you doing, brother?" Knives demanded. His voice was not harsh, but worried, and a little sad.

"What ARE you doing, Vash?" Meryl yelped. "We brought this poor woman in to rest! What are you doing to her?"

Milly piped in. "I think Mr. Vash's found a long-lost relative!"

"It's you!" Vash cried. "Is it really you? Oh, it is! You feel like I remember you."

Meryl gave Vash a swift bonk to the head. "Let her go, you pervert! I don't care who she is – some past fling of yours! You're married to me now!"

Vash let Rem go. He looked up to Meryl with a tear-streaked, red face. "No, no! You don't understand!" he pleaded.

Knives leaned forward in his chair. He blinked twice.

"V-Vash?" Rem asked.

Vash hugged her again, more gently this time. "Rem... it's you, isn't it? It's really you..."

Knives spoke. "You're a fool, brother. It cannot be her. Rem is dead. We watched her die. Even if she did somehow survive, she was human. She would have aged and died long ago."

"It's her!" Vash whined. "I'd know her anywhere! I don't know how, but it's her!"

Meryl stormed over and suddenly grabbed Rem's sweat-stained shirt collar. "Who are you?" she demanded. "Are you some sort of imposter? How dare you dress up like this Rem-person to toy with his emotions? Can you walk yet? If you can, get out!"

"Meryl! Meryl! Please!" Milly pleaded. "You're scaring the baby!"

Christopher was wailing his little head off. He had climbed off Knives' lap and Milly held him, trying to comfort him.

Rem sat up. "I've been looking for you..." she said, "Vash... I've been... searching.... so many years. And Knives... you too... Knives..."

Knives blinked again. Vash gazed at her with a mixture of sorrow and expectation on his features. Rem sat up full on the couch now and regarded them both, ignoring Meryl, Milly, and the squalling child. She spoke calmly.

"Your designation numbers are Delta 27 A and Delta 27 B. Your full given names are Vashon Alexander Saverem and Knives Millones Saverem. Your birthmother was Delta 26, nicknamed 'Miyuki.' Vash used to collect the bones of small birds, mice, and lizards that he found in the Geoplant and keep them in an old pillowcase. He also liked to pick apart owl pellets. Knives used to wet the bed but would try to cover it up with towels, baking soda, and carpet deodorizer."

Both Vash and Knives stared at the woman on their couch. Their eyes widened with every little piece of information she revealed about them. Knives scowled when the bedwetting was mentioned.

Vash grabbed her in a full hug again. "It is you!" he cried. "How? How is it you?" He was sobbing again, now. "I saw the ship blow up! I watched you die!"

Meryl simply stared at her husband. Milly beckoned Knives not to get up. His legs could not yet handle the stress without a crutch or someone to lean on. Christopher stopped crying.

"I DID NOT wet the bed," Knives growled. "Vash wet the bed. I covered it up for his sake."

"Calm down, Vash, calm down," Rem said, peeling his hands off her. "You hurt my ribs when you hug me so hard like that. Ssssh. If I may... have time to explain. I've been following you for a long time."

Rem spoke for a long time, trying to explain her strange journey through the years. She began with her awakening in the crash of Alpha Ship, as much as she could remember of it. She spoke of the Plant who had touched her – which she recalled was not Miyuki, but Delta 17 - "Eliza."

She spoke of her life with Salem Greer, and her years of wandering after that, following rumors of Vash. Everyone sat and listened, as to one of the traveling poets or legend-tellers that came through the small towns on occasion.

"I... I looked for records or mentions of Knives, too... but found none..." Rem nervously lied. She remembered well the rumors of the murderer Knives, but he was sitting right there, listening to her, and she decided that, no – that murderer could not be her Knives.

Vash held back his tears. He could not stop staring at Rem – aged a little now, tanned, rough-skinned. Her hair was still as black and as long as he remembered it, only now, she had gray bangs. Her eyes were still bright, like sparkling rich, black coffee, but she had crow's feet at their edges. He noticed the smattering of light burn scars up her neck and right cheek. He caught a glimpse of the veiny burn-scars over her right arm through the sleeve of her thin white shirt.

There was so much she didn't know. There was so much that he didn't want to tell her, but knew that she needed to know. He'd thought he'd put old wounds behind him. He thought that he had finally come to terms with living his life on his own, by his own words. Rem had returned to him. It was something that he'd always wanted. Now she was here – but life was just so complicated now. There was so much to explain – so much sorrow that he did not want to dredge up.

He had changed, and so had she.

Vash didn't want to tell her that Knives had caused the Fall. Knives wasn't completely trusting of humans now, but he had, at least, put away his desire to destroy the species. Vash had been taking him for "counseling sessions" with the Plant in LR. The three of them spoke in their own unique way. She had been helping Knives to see humans in a different light – basically, to understand Vash's view a little bit - over the past year. Milly and Meryl had been helping to change his mind, too.

Milly's son, Christopher, had perhaps helped Knives to see some good in humans the most. The child resembled his father, Nicholas D. Wolfwood. Milly named him Christopher because Wolfwood had told her once, that if he had ever had a son, that he would want to give him that name. Knives had regained consciousness three days after his birth. His enraged, anti-human rantings, as Vash treated his wounds, seemed pointless against little Christopher. Knives had grown to actually like the child. Christopher called him "Unca Knives."

Vash continued to watch Rem as she spoke. There was one more thing that he did not want to tell her, but knew he had to. It was what he dreaded the most. He felt his guts wrench when she spoke of the "family" she had found after the Fall. He took a private comfort when she spoke of Salem Greer – a man whom she had watched become a killer, but loved anyway. The name "Bluesummers" stabbed him like a dagger to the chest, every time he heard it. "Bluesummers." "Bluesummers." "Bluesummers."

Could he hide this from her? These many things? Perhaps just this one thing? - No. She deserved to know. She was his mother, Rem... his Rem.

Over a century's worth of explanations and stories would come in time, in their own time.

So, Rem lived there. Vash set up the guest room for her in the little cabin on the edge of Wells City that Meryl and Milly were renting with their Bernardelli Insurance pay. The situation for the girls had changed considerably, but they were still considered to be on duty of "risk-management," in watching over Vash and his brother – though Meryl was now officially married to the Humanoid Typhoon.

Rem spoke with Vash, with Knives, and with Milly and Meryl. She explained as much about herself and her life as she could, though even Vash could not figure out her strange pattern of aging. Milly was fairly forthcoming in speaking of her and Meryl's adventures with Vash. Rem learned the name of Christopher's father, and saw his photograph. She recognized him as the kind priest from the church in December she had once visited. Vash told her stories, but she felt that he was holding back, hiding things. She was afraid to pry, for his eyes were sad. His was a face like Milly's – a face that betrayed a loss of innocence. It was a face etched in lines of extreme pain.

So, more often than not, Rem and Vash spoke about pleasant things – memories of the good times they'd shared. Vash always seemed a little withdrawn, though, as though he wanted to ask something very special and sacred from her, but was afraid to ask.

Knives existed in that house like a ghost. He kept to himself, preferring to stay in his own small room most of the time. He was still recovering from terrible wounds. No one spoke of how he had received them. Whenever Rem passed by him, he would avert his gaze.

Rem wanted the truth. She would learn it, for her very presence here tread upon sacred places and scars of sadness.

She caught him, standing beside his bed, silhouetted by the rays of the morning sunlight streaming through the bedroom window. The door was open and he was folding laundry and placing it on the bed. When she saw him, she stood there in silence.

Rem had learned about the prosthetic arm. Vash had shown it to her, rolling up his shirtsleeve and taking off its leather casing. All he told her was that he'd had his arm shot off in a gun battle many years ago. He had shown her the machine-gun feature within it. He spoke of keeping in touch with friends who still had access to the Lost Technology. He'd planned to take her to meet them someday.

She'd wept over seeing the arm. She wept silently now. Vash was clad only in sweatpants as he sorted his and Meryl's laundry. She stood there, watching him for what felt like years before he turned and saw her. He let out a yelp and tried to cover his bare chest with his arms and hands. He ran to close the door, but Rem strode into the room before he could.

He fumbled with a button-up shirt, trying to put it on, and wound up only tearing one of the sleeves off in his haste. "Don't look!" he pleaded.

Rem put her arms around his waist and let tears drip down her cheeks. "Vash, no..." she choked. "You've been through so much pain... I never wanted this to happen to you."

"I'm ugly," Vash replied.

"No, you aren't." Rem whispered. "I... I want to know what happened to you. You've been hiding it all from me. I want to know what happened to you – everything. Please."

Vash sat down on the edge of the bed. Rem sat down next to him. He cried for a long time.

To be Continued!! Turn to the Next!!

Shadsie, 2004