FORTY-THREE: confrontation

It seemed an eternity passed as the two men stared one another down. For Vash the Stampede, the longer he held the other's attention without a being forced into a shootout meant that he had that many more extra moments to identify any weakness and use that to his advantage, to the better end for both individuals. He didn't really want to be lured into a battle with anyone, especially with the bigger battle yet to come, against Morgante and Quinn and the devastating army of plant-spawn clones they had developed.

Vash just couldn't see a weakness. His opponent was set perfectly for battle, his legs set apart and slightly bent, peering down the sight of the Cross Punisher II. The weapon was poised for easy discharge. From the looks of the man holding Wolfwood's weapons, he wasn't prone to mistakes.

"You're not quite the man I pictured, Vash the Stampede," the man said slowly. "I expected a trigger-happy lunatic with a lack of patience."

Vash nodded slowly at that. Yeah, he had to admit that this man across from him acted like a pro. He was as patient a gunman as Vash had seen in some time, waiting for the right moment to strike. It was something Vash seldom saw from the Gung-Ho Guns.

He said nothing. A slight smile touched his lips.

This confrontation could be interesting, to say the least. Very few men had the patience to outlast as skilled an individual as Vash the Stampede.

He knew when that moment did come, when the two were thrust into combat, that it would be difficult to avoid injury of any kind, whether for himself or his opponent. Despite his patience, his friends needed his help; he didn't have all day to clash with some unknown when Quinn's army was still nowhere to be found.

"I'll give you an opportunity," Vash said finally, lifting his arms so the man could see his weapons were no longer aimed in his direction. "Lay down your arms. This fight doesn't have to have anything to do with you."

"The way I see it, it's just you and me," the man replied, his smirk growing. "I really don't see anyone else."

"Don't you have any idea what I can do to you?"

"Not really. That never really bothered me."

Vash frowned. "You're sure what you're doing is really worth it?"

"I really don't know who the hell you are, but you have to have hurt a hell of a lot of people to get a sixty billion double-dollar bounty placed on your head." Vash heard a soft click as his newest opponent released the safety of the Cross Punisher II; the end opened to reveal the weapon's barrel. "Somebody has to take you down."

"How very noble of you."

"Not really." A cold smirk grew over the bounty hunter's mouth. "I'm not exactly the hero type. I'm here for the money."

Vash nodded. "If that's how you want it…" He lowered his weapons and took aim once again at his opponent. The other bent his knees a little more, seemingly unaffected by the weight of the Cross Punisher. Vash narrowed his eyes as the opponent started to squeeze the trigger. He darted left as the first bullet rushed past his left ear. The smell of gunpowder filled the air. Vash pounced, taking aim with the Angel Arm magnum. "Let's just be sure you really earn it!"

Spike had never seen anyone so fast. Not even Vicious was as fast as his newest opponent. The biggest difference was, if this man really wanted to kill him, Spike would be dead five times over before he hit the ground, despite the fact that he had been the first to fire a shot.

This man, Vash the Stampede, didn't seem like the kind of man who would have such a huge bounty placed on his head. He actually fought to keep his opponent from suffering an injury. Upon his first pounce, without firing a shot, Vash actually flipped over Spike and swept his legs out from under him with a sweep of his right arm. Typically Spike would have been able to avoid such a maneuver—if an opponent could really pull off such a maneuver at all—but with the heavy Cross Punisher set over his right shoulder, there was really no getting out of the way. The bounty hunter toppled over and landed on his backside as the heavy weapon dropped to the ground.

The black-clad bounty was up again in an instant, pushing the cross away with his foot and putting away his weapons as he turned to face him. Spike leapt to his feet as well, taking a defensive posture, his hands up like a confident boxer waiting for a heavyweight champion to make a mistake. Vash gave him a look. "You've got to be kidding me."

"We'll see!" Spike said, and threw a punch.

Vash effortlessly slid to one side and watched the fist fly by. A second punch followed. Vash took a step back and avoided the blow just as easily as the first. Several more punches were thrown, and Spike soon realized that his opponent was simply too fast for such a tactic.

"I think we're really earning your money now," the bounty said, a friendly smile glued to his face.

"Maybe you should hold still a second and find out." Spike continued to dance about like a boxer, and then he struck one last time. Vash almost yawned, as if he were actually bored. With ease, he grabbed Spike's wrist and flipped him head-over-heels so that he landed squarely onto his back.

He stared up at the sky for a moment, trying to figure out what he'd done wrong. "Damnit. That's supposed to be my style."

Vash shrugged. "Sorry. You're really not giving me much of a choice."

Spike grunted and slipped a fresh cigarette into his mouth, watching the blue sky as he lit the smoke. "Guess not." Pushing himself to his feet, he once more turned to face Vash.

"You don't give up easily, do you?"

"Guess I'm pretty stubborn," Spike replied, once more taking up that same posture. "Let's go. You first."

Vash grinned. "That's okay. I'll let you lead."

"Hmmm. You must be pretty stubborn yourself."

"Guess so."

And so, once more Spike struck, and Vash dodged.

Quinn rose from the driver's seat of his truck and walked the remaining ten paces to join Morgante the Warhead and his four men. There was a look of unexpected fury in the old man's eyes as he trudged past the team. "Ariel's dead," he explained heatedly as he made past them to the entrance of the Millennium Arc, where Henry Starks was fretting over his latest failure. Quinn could barely contain his anger as he shot a look up to Morgante and approached his young partner. "Report," he demanded.

Starks lowered his eyes. "They are somewhere within the Millennium Arc. Our men still have them surrounded."

Quinn's brow twitched in irritation. "And just how did my high-priced men let them slip out of their sight so easily?"

"We were distracted by three intruders. Bounty hunters." Starks shrugged, barely able to keep contact with his boss' eyes. "One was sent to face Vash the Stampede. The other two found the Alpha Sample and the girl. They're staked out somewhere on the inside. I have a crew working on locating and capturing them."

"You see, Starks, that's not the most efficient way of holding captives," Quinn said. "When we take captives"—he pulled out his silver Colt .45 and turned it on his former best man—"we hold them." Starks' eyes widened and he started to turn away. Before he could get more than a half step away from Quinn, a gunshot echoed across the desert and a bullet lodged in the man's brain. Starks fell to the earth, dead before he hit the ground. Quinn turned, sliding his weapon back into its holster. Morgante's shoulders rose and fell as he heaved a heavy sigh. "Find them. I want them brought to me before dinner. I'm not in a pleasant mood. If something else goes wrong, I am not above disposing of the trouble maker myself."

The big man nodded his understanding and turned to face his four men. "You know what to do. Let's get this out of the way."

As the five of them disappeared into the Millennium Arc, Quinn returned to his truck and grabbed the CB. He took the mike and held the switch. "Dark Horse, this is Quinn. Do you read?"

For a moment, there was static, and then a response: "This is Dark Horse, reading loud and clear. Over."

"Dark Horse, you have new orders. It seems Vash the Stampede is making his way toward the Millennium Arc. Bring full forces this way and await orders. The gateship must be protected at all costs. Over."

There was static, more so than a moment before. Finally, the reply came: "Quinn, please clarify. Dark Horse is to alter course and proceed to Millennium Arc?"

Quinn smirked. "Roger that, Dark Horse. And keep your eyes opened for Vash the Stampede. Over and out."

He shut off the radio and put the mike back in place.

"All right, Mr. Vash. I don't know about you, but this is really getting interesting." He leaned back against his car and stared to the crystal clear blue sky and wiped a thick layer of sweat from his brow.

He reloaded his Colt .45 and headed back toward the Millennium Arc.

Vash was as smooth and precise as he had been in a long time, easily dodging Spike Spiegel's every attack. Soon, he could see that his opponent was getting a little winded, and so he adjusted to allow for a more sluggish defensive. Never once did he feel he was ever in any real danger, despite the determination he could plainly see in his opponent's face.

The wind whipped sand violently into the air, occasionally blurring the view of both Vash and the bounty hunter. Despite the tarnished visibility, the Humanoid Typhoon accepted each moment of the battle with the patience due to him, using Spike's momentum against him on several occasions to send him spinning out of control.

In the back of his mind, he knew that Meryl and the others were in danger, that they would need him back at the Millennium Arc. The female plant-spawn would most likely be after the jeep. He didn't have time to fool around with a headstrong bounty hunter, yet he knew without a doubt this one was too skilled to simply ignore.

A year ago he had been fighting Knives to defend everyone, especially Knives.

Now he was defending everyone he cared for. He was defending Meryl and Milly, Stryker, and now even Faye Valentine and Bran the Toddler and Uri and the saviors of the Millennium Arc.

He had come to realize that the people of Gunsmoke had made their own decisions, and that he really couldn't be a part of that life in the way he had intended. He was no longer in the game for anyone but himself, and he could only be himself with his friends, and so this man across from him only stood in the way of that destiny.

"I'm running out of time," Vash said. "Don't you ever give up?"

The other was breathing heavily. "No reason to. Maybe you should."

"Sorry, I can't do that."

Spike wiped a thick layer of sweat from his forehead. "Then you know I can't either. I have something at stake too, and that's more than just my pride."

"There are lives at stake here," Vash said. "I don't know what you've heard, but I'm really not the criminal they make me out to be."

Spike rolled his eyes. "You think bounty hunters give a shit whether you're guilty or not? You really are a dumb ass. Like I said, I'm in this for the money. I'm not judge or jury. I turn in innocent people all the time. The trial's not in my hands."

"But you would be the executioner if I gave you the choice."

"If I have to. Jet always says shit happens."

"That's kind of hypocritical, isn't it?"

"Hey, it's equal opportunity. You have a chance to turn yourself in."

Vash narrowed his eyes hatefully. "The people of this world have already decided. If I turn myself in, I'd have no chance for a fair trial."

Spike rubbed his hands together, realizing there would be no easy end to this situation. Vash was prepared to fight to the bitter end, and the bounty hunter seemed to understand that he couldn't really win. The Humanoid Typhoon narrowed his eyes and let his hidden machine gun slide clear of the chamber within the wrist of his prosthetic left arm. He took aim.

"I don't want to have to do this."

Spike narrowed his eyes. "Okay then. Let's alter the playing field." He spun away rushing toward the gorge where the jeep had fallen. Vash turned his eyes wide as he watched the man fall over the ledge and out of view. He heard a soft metallic click over the soft breeze of the afternoon.

Something round and small rolled to a stop at his feet.

Blinking, Vash tried to understand what he was seeing.

When his eyes widened in realization, it was almost too late.

Spike hit the ground and rolled onto his back, ripping two handguns from beneath his jacket and taking aim skyward, toward the ledge, just as his grenade exploded and sent a wave of sand and smoke barreling skyward, over the gorge. Immediately, a thin smile stretching across his face, the bounty hunter rose and started to brush himself off.

At that moment, someone slapped him on the shoulder. "Wow, that really was a daring move. Someone really could have been hurt. I'm glad to see you're okay."

Spike spun around, dumbfounded. "You? But how–"

Vash grinned and shook his finger. "Now now! I can't go around giving away trade secrets, can I?"

"But wha…how… You can't do that!"

Vash shrugged. "Sorry to disappoint you."

Spike brought his guns up and started firing close-range. With a cry of surprise Vash darted away, leaping this way and that to avoid each bullet. What Spike realized in that moment was just what the bounty had to do to avoid every shot. It was incredible; Spike could see his eyes following the gun barrel and predicting the path of each bullet with pinpoint accuracy. It was something he had seen people do a few times before using drugs, but this wasn't a man that seemed to be doped up in any way. Somehow, Spike understood the man was naturally skilled.

The problem was, he didn't act like it. He screamed out like a little girl, desperately trying to avoid each passing bullet. For the life of him, Spike couldn't figure the man out. One moment he was as cool as any gunman he had ever seen, and the next he had become no more than a bona fide chicken-shit. It was almost amazing to watch, had he not known that the man had sixty billion on his head.

It just wasn't right.

The biggest question of them all: Why didn't the man simply fight back? No doubt he had the talent and the firepower, but he was too busy dodging attacks to even pull out his weapons, save the first few moments that Spike had determined was no more than a scare tactic, trying to convince him not to go after the huge bounty.

There was no way this man could possibly be an outlaw. He was way too timid. How anyone could think to offer such a large sum as a reward for his capture or death was beyond Spike Spiegel.

After all, Spike was not so timid with his weapons. He'd done some despicable things in his day, yet no one had ever thought to put such a price on his head.

No, this just wasn't right at all.

But it was all still money, and Spike needed money.

He held up both handguns and darted forward, unleashing a fresh volley of gunfire into the still air of the gorge.

In an instant, he lost Vash again. Somehow, the man, who had only a moment ago been right in front of him, simply vanished.

Two gunshots echoed across the desert, violently striking his guns and knocking them clear of his grip. Spike cursed in surprise as he started to shake the pain from his hands, and then froze when he realized what was happening. "Look out below!" Vash screamed as he barreled down toward the bounty hunter. But Spike knew the instant he saw him falling that there would be no avoiding the inevitable, and the Humanoid Typhoon crashed down on him, leaving them in an unceremonious heap at the bottom of the gorge.

"Oh, geez. You okay?"

Spike was aghast. "Get off me!"

"I'm real sorry, ya know. I think I got some dirt in my eye. It was a little tough to see where I was go–"

"Get off!" Spike screamed, giving his opponent an angry shove.

Vash grimaced. "Sorry."