Notes: This chapter is set between the episodes 'Good Bye For Now,' and 'Hang Fire.'

I'll switch the setting between each chapter, so the next chapter will be set just after July and the chapter after that will be set back with the boys now. Get it? Cool. If you like this please leave a review! Oh, and in case the ending leaves you a bit confused… this ISN'T AU.

Chapter 1

'So,' said Wolfwood, speaking very slowly and very clearly, 'what you're saying… is that you've lost all our money playing cards?'

Vash the Stampede and Nicholas D Wolfwood were currently on a Sand Steamer bound for the New Jersey area, not where Wolfwood wanted to be precisely, but near enough the general area he wanted that it didn't matter. So far things had been fairly quiet, this, however, was a new development. He could feel the beginnings of a headache start behind his eyes.

Vash blushed, 'well, not all of it! Um… I spent some of it on the doughnut stand before hand.'

'Yes, but apart from that it's all gone, right?'

'Uh huh,' sighed Vash, taking note of strange, very calm expression on Wolfwood's face, 'you did say, once, that a real man would put all his money on the table!'

'I didn't mean-' began the priest, then paused, taking a second to calm down again. He had to be calm, he had to be very, very calm.

'What I mean,' he began again, 'is… why the hell did you play poker anyway? What possessed you?'

It was a good question, for all his other faults Vash was actually rather good with money. He wasn't a skin flint by any means (and certainly not when things like Doughnuts came into the equation,) but he didn't seem the type to flitter his money away.

Vash just grinned.

Wolfwood blinked, what the-?

The dorky gunslinger made a small gesture with his thumb, pointing behind him to where a small game of cards was taking place.

One of the players was a woman with a rather beautiful appearance. Slender, delicate, with long brown hair, large eyes, and a lot of make up. Her… chest… was large and covered up only to the minimal of decency. She had a rather large pile of poker chips besides her.

Wolfwood turned his eyes back to Vash, who was now blushing bright crimson, 'her name's Mary Sue! Isn't she a cutie!'

Wolfwood's head began to ache, a gentle, throbbing pain.

'You lost my money to her!' he said, unable to keep his voice even any longer, 'but you're… you're… you're an expert at hiding your feelings! You have all those fake smiles! You're not even drunk! You should be great at poker, how the hell did you lose to her!'

Vash shrugged and rubbed the back of his head with his hand, 'sorry,' he muttered, 'I really don't know, I'm not usually so bad at card games…'

Wolfwood bit down on his own lip, determined not to loose his temper. The Sand steamer's captain had warned that, in these troubled times, so he wanted no trouble on his ship and that the first passengers to start said trouble would be thrown off.

The problem was that Vash and trouble were… well… he honestly doubted you could have one without the other.

Wolfwood's eyes turned back to the gaming table, he'd give Vash one thing, he did have a good taste in women. The girl at the table really was pretty, though the makeup probably helped matters. As he watched she reached into a small, silken purse and withdrew a makeup kit. She opened up the little box and began to touch her eye-liner up whilst the other players took their move. Wolfwood noticed how she angled the little mirror in the box just so that…

'Vash,' he said, 'that woman's cheating, she's using her mirror to look at the other player's cards.'

'Oooh, really?' gasped his broom headed companion, 'I thought she was doing that!'

The headache was certainly there now, and painful. Wolfwood rubbed the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes, the light suddenly becoming a little too bright for him.

'You… you knew she was cheating?'

'Well, I wasn't completely sure and I didn't want to take her up on it, it might have made her cry! Besides, she said she was going to use her winnings to visit her critically sick little brother, how could I-'

'THAT WAS MY MONEY YOU BROOM HEADED IDIOT!'

Vash winced and patted the air in a 'calm down' motion, 'aw come on, Nicholas, it's not that bad, and it went to a good cause! Think of her little, critically ill brother!'

'Oh, oh,' Wolfwood was grinning now, grinning manically, 'you're the one who's gonna be critically ill soon! I'm gonna make sure of that!'

'Um… Wolfwood, that vein on the side of your head is throbbing a lot.'

Wolfwood gripped the sides of his chair desperately, he must not kill Vash. Knives would kill him if he did. He mustn't kill Vash. He mustn't kill Vash… damn, it felt like his brain was going to explode!

'Ok, Ok,' he said, trying to breath, 'Ok, this isn't a problem, we'll deal with it later, right?'

'Right!'

'Right,' the Priest let out a long, indrawn breath, trying to relax, he desperately needed a cigarette, but first something to cool him down.

'Pass me the water,' he grunted, 'I need a drink.'

'Uh… I would but…'

'Vash…'

'Well, she said she was thirsty!'

The litany began anew in Wolfwood head. I must not kill Vash. I must not kill Vash. I must not kill- aw, screw it!

'AIEEEEEEEEEEE!!!'

Twenty minutes later.

'You'll pay for this in the afterlife! St Peter will never let you trough the pearly gates! You'll face retribution for kicking off a preacher, you hear me! Don't invite the wrath of Our Lord!'

'Um… Wolfwood, I don't think they can hear you…'

Wolfwood spun round to face his companion, now sitting in the sand, nursing a busied jaw, 'shut up,' he hissed, 'and besides, that's not the point.'

The two men were alone in the vast, trackless desert which made up much of Gunsmoke. The Sand Steamer, which Wolfwood had been shouting and waving his fist at, was now a mere speck upon the horizon. The only other items with them were their sparse baggage and Wolfwood's bike, now lying on its side in the dust.

Behind him Vash snorted, 'there's no need to be so snappy, it was you who started the brawl anyhow, the captain didn't have much choice but to toss us off.'

'Me? Me? It was you who started it, you hit me!'

Vash leaped up from the sand, matching eyes with the priest 'you hit me first!' he protested.

'Well I was mad! You spent all my money!'

'That wasn't my fault, the lady cheated!'

'You let her cheat you sentimental, broom headed idiot!'

For a moment the two men stood there, glaring at each other, Vash was the first to look away.

'Anyway,' he sighed, 'arguing won't get us anywhere.'

'Yeah well,' grunted Wolfwood, 'unless you haven't noticed we're stuck in the desert with little food and no water. How the hell are we gonna to get to New Jersey now?'

'We have your bike.'

'But hardly any fuel for it.'

For the first time since their fight, Vash looked sincerely worried; Wolfwood sighed and moved towards his Angelina II. He pushed it up out of the sand, and began to saddle it, 'don't worry, Needle Noggin, we've got enough fuel to get us to the nearest settlement. I thought something might happen so I checked the map. There's somewhere we can stop off just a few iles away, Angelina will last us that far.'

'Good,' said Vash, moving to sit behind Wolfwood on the saddle, 'where is it?'

Wolfwood didn't reply, he just kicked the bike into gear and, with a flurry of dust, they set off.

'Um… Wolfwood?' repeated Vash, putting his arms round his waist so as not to fall off, 'where are we going? Where is this settlement?'

Nothing.

'Wolfwood?'

The Priests reply game out more as a sigh than anything, 'July.'

He was pretty sure that he didn't just imagine Vash's arms tighten their grip around his waist.

The city of July was destroyed twenty eight years ago, but its story was not yet completely over.

Humans, for all their other faults, are survivors to the bitter end and not everyone could flee July. So it was that, from amidst the rubble and ashes, life sprung anew.

Well, something like that anyway.

Really, this was just a verbose way of saying that not all the refugees of July left, some tried to stick it out and made crude, temporary homes. After many years these homes became less temporary and more… stable. A tiny shanty town developed where once a great city thrived. It comprised mostly of people too poor or too desperate to make a living anywhere else. It's only export was rescued refuse, bits of broken technology, abandoned valuables and a few tiny cottage industries. With no Plant to sustain it, the settlement depended almost entirely on imports from other places, imports it could only just afford.

The upshot of this was that, whilst the settlement of July did exist, that was all it did. It was a place of empty, broken buildings and lost hopes. No one stayed any longer than they had to, it's only value was as a half way point between various other, more important places. Sooner or later everyone would either die or leave and only the ghosts of forgotten dreams would be left to haunt the ruins.

Angelina II ran out of fuel just outside the settlement and the gunslinger and the priest were forced to drag it the rest of the way until. Vash hadn't said a word since Wolfwood had given him the name of the settlement. As they approached the outskirts of the ruins, where they hid and left the motor bike, he reached into his shirt and pulled out his glasses.

Wolfwood frowned as he slipped the yellow spectacles over his nose, adjusting them so they hid his blue-green eyes. He always did that when he was bothered about something, when he was about to fight, when he didn't want people to see his emotions. It figured, the eyes were the window to the soul, after all and you didn't want to expose that during a conflict.

He remembered the words of Chapel, his mentor, explaining the importance of the eye, how one could read emotions from it, intentions, even the trajectory of a bullet.

He considered donning his own sun glasses, but decided against it. Two mysterious men wearing shades might seem a little odd, draw too much attention, which was the last thing he wanted. He was only glad that Vash didn't have his trench coat with him, what a stir that would have caused! The man in the red coat, the destroyer of July, returning at last. Coming back to the place where Vash the Stampede was born.

The thought made Wolfwood wince. Damn, this place must hold some painful memories for the goofy gunslinger.

So what? whispered a small, spiteful voice in his head, it's not as if he doesn't deserve that pain, if nothing else. He can't even comprehend the amount of pain he caused here, twenty eight years ago.

Wolfwood shook the thought away, Vash was probably very much aware of what he'd done… Besides, with all the crap he went though on a daily basis, Wolfwood was tempted to think he'd already paid for the suffering he'd caused. Not that he wouldn't suffer even more before all was said and done, Legato would ensure that.

These thoughts brought a surge of compassion into Nicholas's soul, 'hey, Vash,' he called to his bespectacled companion, 'you alright?'

'Yeah,' replied Vash, turning to give Wolfwood one of his large selection of fake smiles, 'I'm fine but… I'd rather not stick around here, Ok? I doubt this town does the best selection of whiskies.'

Wolfwood allowed himself a small smile, 'yeah I know what you mean. But we're not going to be leaving any time soon. We need fuel for Angelina and we've no money to buy it, thanks to you.'

'You're not going to be letting that go any time soon, are ya?' whined Vash.

'Nope,' replied Wolfwood.

Vash looked like he was going to say something else but he was cut off by another voice, a voice from behind them.

'Vash…'

Wolfwood looked back to see an elderly woman with long, white hair which streamed out behind her in the desert wind. She seemed in her early fifties, but her eyes… they were older and her features were worn hard and craggy by a life full of struggle and strife. By her side was a rough, wooden cane which she leaned upon, her garments were plain and homespun, full of patches and rips but clean, the kind of cleanness that comes from almost compulsive washing.

'Vash…' she whispered again… 'Vash, is it really you?'

Vash spun round to face his addressor, his face became suddenly expressionless, cold.

'Yes,' replied the Gunslinger, his voice hard, 'long time no see… Rem.'

Reader's Replies:

LeDiz: Thanks for replying, I'm glad this has you hooked! Don't worry, there's much more to come. BTW, the dead guy was Count Verquiz, or whatever he was called. The guy Knives killed, basically. His dead body serves no function except to add mood so don't worry about it.

ATO: Glad you like it!

MidgetMinion: Oooh, new reader, coolies! Glad you like the style, it's gonna change slightly into amore... well, you've seen here... but I'm happy I got the mood right. I hope you liked this chapter too. Don't worry, we'll get back to Post July next chapter.

Lushdesolation (who's reviewed this on my LJ,) Heh, what did you think to the ending of this chapter, eh? And I'm glad to have been congratulated on my research. Not enough people go into what it must be like to loose and arm. Horrific, I'd think...

See you next time I hope!