Okay, here's chapter 15. Thanks again to my reviewers, and to the rest of you, come on! Get with the program and review! Just kidding, but it really would be nice. My goal for this story right now is 50.

Disclaimer: I do not own Trigun.

LIVING MEMORIES

-A Trigun Story-

Chapter 15: Wait an Hour

Frey glanced at herself in a piece of broken glass, formerly a mirror. The reflection looked back at her with a droll smile as she silently analyzed herself. Fortunately she had chosen a rather short and skinny soldier to accost.

The uniform was slightly large on her, but it was believable. It was made of a plain but sensible gray material, the jacket being trimmed with blue and fastened with shiny brass buttons. The pants puffed out at her knees, where her sleek, high black boots ended. She took her hair out of its ponytail and made a bun out of it on the top of her head, covering it with the standard brimmed cap all of the men wore. It looked just like the ones the crew members of the sand steamers had.

Frey nodded in approval. She looked just like one of the men of the calvary, with one exception. Quickly she peeled and tore off all of her bandages, cringing as some of them left her skin red and tender. None of the calvary members had been treated for their injuries yet. They would wait until all of the citizens were taken care of, and that would probably be awhile still.

Taking a deep breath and glancing once more at the pile on the ground next to her that consisted of her red jacket and tan pants, she turned. All she had to do was tell Michael what was going on and then leave. It would be easy enough. Right?

"Sir, I've been informed that a man associated with Vash the Stampede is being detained here. Is this true?"

The sheriff glared up at Frey from where he was reading a newspaper. He nodded shortly, then looked back down. Frey was relieved that he didn't suspect her appearance or feigned voice.

"May I have an audience with him?"

"State your name and purpose," he said as he turned a page.

Frey hesitated, slightly flustered, a feeling she was unused to.

"Um, I'm with the calvary. I've been asked to question him," she quickly lied.

The man raised an eyebrow. "The calvary, huh? I never would have guessed."

Frey wasn't ignorant enough to miss the sarcasm in his voice.

"My name is Lieutenant Buskus, sir." She immediately winced, though she did her best to hide it from the man. What had possessed her to use her real name? Hopefully he didn't know anything about her from the doctor.

"Shouldn't the calvary be sending someone with a little higher ranking than lieutenant to handle this kind of job?"

"We're running short on men, sir."

The sheriff turned another page, sinking back in his chair. "I don't know why you're even asking me for permission to see him. You guys are the ones that brought him here, anyway." He glanced up at Frey. "You're new at this, aren't you."

Frey smiled slightly. "You got me, sir. I just started. I can see him now, right?"

The man shrugged. "Go ahead. He's on the third room on the right. Oh, and by the way, you really should get yourself looked at. You've got some pretty nasty cuts." Frey nodded gratefully, ignoring the drop of blood she felt running down her face from a cut in her cheek, and walked past the man. She pushed open the door that led to the cells and walked directly to the third door on the right. She gripped the handle slowly.

The room was dark. Across it she could barely discern a set of bars, shining dully in the weak light. She took a step forward, at first not sensing any movement from within the iron cage. Her eyes adjusted slowly, and then she spotted him. He was sitting on the dirt floor, silently tracing mindless patterns in it with his finger. The small traces of doubt within her mind vanished. It was Michael Nicholas Thompson.

She opened her mouth to speak, but found her voice restricted. She closed it again and just watched him. His face was dead, emotionless. The lack of fear, anger, or any other emotion in it almost scared her. She sighed.

His eyes shifted slightly for a moment, glancing at his intruder, but other than that he didn't react at the noise. He didn't even question the meaning of her presence with a word or a searching glance. Suddenly she regained her voice.

"Michael, it's me."

His eyes registered no recognition of her voice. "Michael," she repeated, "it's me. It's Frey."

The name pierced his barrier. He looked up, this time with a steady gaze. She sensed that he was going to look away again in disappointment after a few moments, though, so she quietly slid the cap from her head and undid her bun so her raven tresses fell softly around her shoulders. He leaped to his feet.

"Frey!" he gasped, clutching the bars as if in an attempt to remove them by sheer willpower, "you're alive!"

His sudden revival touched her. She wiped a drop from her cheek, not sure if it was blood or a tear. "Oh Michael," she whispered, almost to herself.

Michael's eyes filled with concern. "What's wrong, Frey?" he asked. Then, realizing how pathetic that sounded, he dropped his gaze. Frey breathed in deeply.

"I'm here to say goodbye."

His eyes shot back up. "What?" he asked, his tone surprised and bordering on anger.

"There's something you need to know," she continued, as if he hadn't spoken.

"Frey, why are you leaving!" His voice was full of despair. This time Frey's eyes fell, unable to handle the alarm and grief apparent on his countenance.

"I'm not the person you think I am, Michael."

Seeing that he wasn't going to be able to convince her of anything until she had said what she needed to say, Michael sat back down and leaned against the wall, giving Frey a view of the side of his face. "What is it, Frey?" he asked calmly.

She took a deep breath. "First of all, my full name is Afreyla Rem Buskus." When Michael failed to react, she continued shakily. "When I was just a kid my father told me about how my grandfather, Revnunt Buskus, had died. He said that he was murdered in July City by an evil man, who had platinum blonde hair and icy blue eyes." Michael drew in a sharp breath, beginning the make the connection. "My father was just a kid at the time, but he escaped. The destruction of July followed shortly." Her voice faltered on her next comment. "He later told me that the city had been destroyed by a huge dome of white light, which some say was produced by . . . by Vash the Stampede."

She left a pause, a pause she expected to be filled by some kind of explanation by Michael, whether it proved or disproved that theory. He remained silent. So she went on, deciding she would get her questions answered when she had finished.

"Six years ago, when I was just twelve, I saw rain for the first time." Both she and Michael's minds jumped back to the last time they had experienced rain together, when she had been taken by Legato, though Michael still didn't know that.

"That night, someone broke into our house. My parents made me go to my room." She paused. "That was the last time I saw them. I heard their screams, but the next thing I knew, they were . . . dead."

Michael looked up, his face finally showing pity. Frey looked away quickly, hating to see the look on him.

"The man came to my room next," she said bitterly, "I was hiding under my bed, but he found me. He took me with him. I was with him for the next year."

"You don't talk about this a lot, do you?" Michael asked quietly.

Frey shook her head.

"Thanks for telling me."

She remained silent.

"It was the same man that killed your grandfather, wasn't it?"

Frey bit her lip, still refusing to look at him. She silently nodded, affirming his assumption.

"Who?"

"Knives," she whispered hoarsely.

Michael nodded to himself. It was as he had suspected. What other blonde, blue-eyed male murderer would have been present at the destruction of July?

Frey glared at him, hating the calm look of contemplation on his face. He still didn't get it.

"When we had arrived at his headquarters, I met Legato," she continued abruptly, drawing his gaze back to her. "He used his powers to subdue me, and another Gung-Ho Gun named Rai-dei the Blade cut my right arm off with his sword."

Michael didn't know whether to be shocked or disgusted at the fact that she was claiming that a dead man had cut off her arm. "Frey, I told you about Rai-dei. He's been dead for-"

Frey cut him off with a quick shake of her head. "Just let me finish," she said, "and I'll explain everything."

"After removing my arm, they attached another one. Knives claimed that it had the power of a plant. I still don't understand that, but somehow it gave me these powers." She psychically lifted the chair in Michael's cell as a demonstration. "It's the same arm that that gun that destroyed this city was made from." She stopped, ashamed, but Michael was too shocked to notice. It all made sense now. The fake arm Knives had given her had produced psychic powers, just like Vash's had for Legato. And if it had the power of a plant as well, that explained the angel arm.

Frey filled the uncomfortable silence by picking up where she had left off. "When I was thirteen, I managed to escape. I was stranded in the desert for a while. I almost died, too. But a bus happened to come that way, and the driver was kind enough to let me on for free. He brought me here, where his brother is a doctor. That doctor healed me, and he's raised me ever since. He's Alec's grandfather."

She sighed, though she knew the worst of it wasn't over. She would let Michael ask for any more information he wanted, though.

He did. "But Frey, what about the Gung-Ho Guns? How are Legato and Rai-dei alive?"

"I didn't even know that until just awhile ago," she said thoughtlessly, "at least not until Legato kidnapped me."

"What!"

"Oh, that's right, you don't know that, either. That night I disappeared, back in Cerin City, I didn't just leave. Legato showed up and took me against my will. It was while I was with Knives that I found out that his number of followers has grown. Some of them can even revive the dead, and Knives has brought a select few back."

It was all falling into place for Michael. "But, that means it wasn't a friend of yours that brought my father back," he said carefully.

"No. It was a Gung-Ho Gun."

"Why would Knives do that?"

Frey hesitated, trying to do her best to keep her emotions from being revealed in her voice. "We made a deal."

"What kind of deal?" he asked, growing fearful.

"Knives sent Legato after me because he wanted me to join him again, now that my powers are stronger. Obviously I wasn't very pleased with that thought," she said cynically, "but I knew I probably didn't have a choice. So I decided to at least get something out of the situation, and I got Knives to promise me to bring someone back from the dead if I joined him. So I brought back your father." She had succeeded in masking her feelings as she had begun, but by the end of her explanation her voice and composure were unstable and threatening to falter.

Michael stared at the prison floor, fists clenched and eyes wide and blank. After a few moments he got up the courage to look at her.

"Why?" he asked weakly.

"Why what?" she responded, making sure to keep what she said as short as possible.

"You could have brought back your grandfather, or one of your parents, or anyone else that you've lost. What possessed you to bring back my dad?"

She stopped, her eyes welling with tears for the first time since Knives had kidnapped her when she was twelve. She looked away, brushing at them fiercely. "I-I just wanted . . . I just wanted you to be happy."

Michael shook his head slowly, not understanding how a young woman that at first had seemed so moody, abrasive, and restless could have made such a sacrifice for his sake. His thoughts were interrupted by her soft voice.

"I think you have some questions to answer now," she said quietly.

He sighed, knowing exactly what she wanted to know. "The rumors were right. Vash really was the one that destroyed July and Augusta. It was against his will though, just like you, and he also used the angel arm, just like you. But he's never killed anyone."

"The angel arm?"

"That massive gun that surrounded your arm and came from Knives' gun."

"Oh."

"Frey, Vash and Knives aren't human. I don't really get it, either, but they're plants. That's why they have powers like the angel arm. And the reason Legato has his powers is that one of his arms is Vash's. Oh, and by the way, Vash and Knives are well over one-hundred. They don't age like normal humans. That's why Vash only looks like he's in his twenties."

"What do you mean, Vash and Knives?"

"They're twin brothers."

Frey froze. Brothers? The idiotic and careless yet very talented man she had been with and her parents' murderer were twins? Michael hadn't told her that in his previous explanation of Vash and Knives' past. She looked at him. He was watching her, his face sullen. They both had all of the pieces to the puzzle now, but what next? They also both remembered the reason Frey had come, to say goodbye. Michael stood up.

"Frey, don't do this." His eyes were brimming with emotion: worry, fear, shock. But above all, his face reflected pure, unconditional affection.

"We won't let him take you," he added softly.

Frey turned away, her face burning with indignation. "That's exactly what your father said, Michael. And then the angel arm happened. Knives was trying to make me kill all of you. I can't put you in danger any longer."

Michael reached through the bars and grabbed Frey's wrist, pulling her toward him. "Listen to me, Frey," he said, his face hard and unmoving, "you can't go. You won't go." She opened her mouth in protest, but was cut off abruptly.

The dams in her eyes broke, allowing the collective emotions of six years to flow freely down her cheeks. She cried silently, no longer detaining the feelings of anger, fear, hatred, shame, and passion. Her face was burning, and she knew it must be as red as her cardinal jacket. Her heartbeat quickened rapidly, the steady thump echoing in her ears amidst the deafening silence. Her body fell limply against Michael's, her fury quelled. She felt weaker in that moment than she ever had when faced by Knives. Michael had kissed her.

He pulled back gently, but didn't release her. She had never closed her eyes, but as she refocused on the present all she saw was his strangely calm and collected face. Frey did the only thing she could. She allowed her head to fall forward on his chest and sobbed.

Michael held her in awe, barely noticing the bars between him and her. It amazed him that a girl as stubborn and proud as Frey was allowing him to see her like this. His joy was only

hindered by the memory of what had brought this quiet meeting and flood of tears on. Carefully he placed one hand on the back of her head, caressing her ebony hair. He whispered quietly in her ear.

"Afreyla, I'd rather die than lose you again."

He immediately regretted his words as she abruptly pulled back, cold bitterness replacing the passion in her eyes. He tried to reach back out to her, put she recoiled from his touch, like a child that had just been burned.

"I'm sorry, Michael," she said coldly, tears still streaming down her cheeks, "but I can't let that happen to you."

Michael watched silently as she brushed at her eyes and regained her composure, then replaced her cap, refusing to look at him the whole time. Then she called to the sheriff.

The moody man kicked the door open as he entered, an eyebrow raised. "Yeah Buskus?"

"How much is this man's bail?" she asked, disguising her voice again.

A short eruption of laughter was heard. "There isn't any. We can't just let this guy go, he's a key asset in the arrest of Vash the Stampede."

"Lieutenant Buskus" withdrew a semi-large bag from the depths of her jacket. She shook it gently, and the clinking sound of coins filled the room. The sheriff's eyes widened with avarice. Michael watched in shock as she plopped the small fortune into the man's open arms.

"Is that enough?"

The sheriff smiled greedily. "That'd about do it."

Frey nodded in satisfaction. "I want you to wait an hour before letting him go."

"Done."

"I'm trusting you to go through with your word."

"You've got it."

Michael clenched the iron bars in his hands, realizing her plan. She was delaying his release an hour so that he couldn't follow her.

"Buskus . . ." he muttered menacingly Frey glanced once more at him, this time calmly. His threatening but desperate look didn't frighten her. Thick metal bars stood firmly between them. There was nothing he could do. She opened her mouth.

"Goodbye, Michael."

He watched helplessly as she disappeared from his view, enveloping his deathly silent abode in darkness again.

"Frey!" he screamed despairingly, knowing she wouldn't be able to hear him through the sound-proof walls, "come back! Please Frey," he reemphasized, his voice weakening, "come back."

Frey exited the prison, head down. To her right she felt to unmistakable presence of Legato Bluesummers, though neither looked at each other. Knives' plan to make Vash die had failed, and she knew she would probably suffer greatly for it, even though she had never been trying to bring about their deaths in the first place. She was willing to risk any punishment, however, if it would save them now.

Legato silently started to walk away. Frey glanced solemnly at his feet, then lifted her own shiny black boot and followed him.