Ivey: Wow… :raises an eyebrow: Over five reviews for the first chapter…. That's a record for us. I think we have a following.

Blue: Someone's following us:looks around frantically:

Ivey: Not like that stupid:smacks her in the back of the head: Ok reviews: Cyllwen- Wow is right. Here's another chapter. Aine of Knockaine- The truth shall be revealed when I feel like it. Sugar Pill- We're glad you likee. MidgetMinion- It is pretty damn cool. We've been meaning to write a fic that's action for the most part.

Blue: AnimeFreaks13- It's called suspense. It keeps the readers wanting more and we're surprisingly good at it. Cinafran- More interesting events to come! I promise!

Ivey: Faery Goddyss- Thanks and I don't like kids either. Annoying little brats…

Blue: Bloodstained Hands- We really are good at confusing the masses. Cliffhangers are fun! Ibogal- I have been cruel to keep you waiting. My apologies I can't help it. I'm mildly evil. Crash Slayer- I intend to press on:smiles: Thank you everyone for the reviews!

Ivey: Blue doesn't own Trigun, but she does own a picture of her hugging Travis Willingham :drool: Oh yeah… Warning: This fic contains strong language. Don't like cursing? Go somewhere else. That is all.

Boys Don't Cry

By Blue

Chapter Two- Photograph

Rather then the logical choice to take the stairs and leave through the front door Noah took the closest exit- the second story window at the end of the hall. He took a moment to slide his knife back into his boot before opening the window. The two by three-foot window has been painted shut several years before when the owner of the establishment had attempted to spruce the place up and Noah grunted as he strained to open it. After a moment the satisfying sound of the paint cracking reached his ears and the window jerked up a few inches.

"Wait!" Noah ignored the shout from the other end of the hall and forced the window open another foot. Sticking his head out he spotted the drainpipe to the left and hefted himself outside. He quickly clambered down the rusting pipe and jumped when he was five feet from the ground, landing on his feet shakily and almost tumbling. The child gained his balance quickly and took off down the street while Vash watched from the window, the boy's bag held loosely at his side.

"You forgot your stuff!" Vash called after him uselessly. The blonde gunman looked on as Noah turned a corner and then looked down at the rucksack. It was made of a faded green material that looked like it'd seen better days. One of the straps was torn and on the flap the initials N. S. were stitched in yellow thread. After a moment Vash closed the window and walked back to his room in thought. Once the door was closed he settled down on the floor with his back leaned against the bed and the bag in his lap.

'What was with that kid,' he thought as he fingered the tarnished metal clasp that kept to bag closed. The gunslinger was almost certain he'd never seen the boy before, but there was something about him and that look in his eyes; such hate filled eyes. His tone was so desperate and anguished, as if he didn't really want to know the answer to his question. The boy's face was etched in his mind's eye. The blonde hair in need of a trim, the flushed complexion of his burned face, the slight frown that graced his lips, the centimeter long scar below his left eye and those eyes… they were gray.

Questions swirled in his mind as he tried to place the boy; he'd met so many people in his long life. What had he done to cause such concentrated hate? When Vash had carried his light form from the merciless sand he'd looked so small and helpless. And when Noah woke Vash saw a boy desperate to be a man; a child alone in the world trying to prove he could take care of himself. As he did with everyone he met Vash wondered at his story. Why had he braved the harsh desert on foot? Why was he alone? Was he an orphan? A run away?

"N. S… Noah S…" he mused aloud and snapped the rucksack open. Perhaps there was something inside the bag that would give him a clue. The first item he withdrew was a tan colored canteen that turned out to be empty. Thinking that the boy might come back for his things once he cooled off Vash refilled the canteen with fresh water before sitting back down to examine the rest of the bag's contents. Beneath the canteen was change of clothes messily bundled up instead of folded, yet another sign of his youth. Children didn't often care if their clothes were wrinkled or clean for that matter. The shirt was black, identical the one he'd been wearing, while the pants, boxers and socks were nondescript. Vash folded them halfheartedly and set them to the side. There was nothing left in the large compartment of the bag so he checked the two smaller ones on the sides. In one he found a wad of cash rolled up and secured with a rubber band. In the other he found a photograph…

Noah wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep when the sound of footsteps woke him. It couldn't have been more than five minutes. After he'd scaled down the outside of the motel he'd run as fast as he could without a destination. After ten minutes of winding through the unfamiliar streets his strength abandoned him and he ducked into an alley, collapsing behind a crate, panting heavily. He'd leaned his head back against the wall telling himself that he'd just rest for a minute and unconsciousness claimed him. As the footsteps approached he opened his eyes wearily and glared. 'Bastard followed me…' His eyes fell upon his bag dangling in the man's hand and he would have slammed his fist into the wall for his own stupidity at forgetting it if he had the strength. He hadn't been thinking properly.

Vash stared down at him, his slightly wide eyes following the contours of the boy's face. He had her eyes, her heart shaped face, her mouth… Noah looked so much like the woman in the photograph, yet so different. He even wore the same ill-tempered expression she'd so often directed at him. It made Vash's heart ache to look at him but couldn't look away. He had to ask even though he already knew the answer. Even though he could guess the reason behind the boy's hate filled glare he had to know for sure.

As he struggled for words the photograph flashed through his mind. A petite woman with black hair and gray eyes hugging a much younger Noah from behind and smiling. Her smile was brilliant, but he'd seen the sadness in those eyes and he knew he was the cause of it.

"You're last name is Stryfe, isn't it?" He only answer was a glare.

Blue: Yes I know this chapter is a little short, but it felt finished. I'm already working on chapter three. Please review!