Ok, just so you all know, this is the 2nd to last chapter. Thanks for the feedback from the last chapter, though it wasn't quite what I expected. I hope this one doesn't ruin the intensity or whatever for you guys. As always, any and all reviews are appreciated, though I'm done asking since that doesn't seem to help much. I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I still don't own Trigun

LIVING MEMORIES

-A Trigun Story-

Chapter 19: Repentance

A dark figure slipped through the open window on the side of the Thompson house, as mysterious and silent as the night itself. His target lay across the room, a lifeless being lying peacefully in death, covered only by a thin white sheet. The intruder's lips curled slightly at the sight before he stepped across the room and swiftly removed the covering.

Sure enough, it was her. The eyes that had watched him with distrust and scrutiny were now closed, the lips that had accused him pale and mute. The sight was slightly unnerving.

"I didn't believe it until now, Buskus," he murmured. "Who would have thought that you had really kicked the bucket? I suppose it makes sense, though," he mused, more to himself than the silent figure.

He pulled up a chair and placed himself next to the bed. "Now," he continued, "don't think I'm doing this because I like you or anything, especially after all of the trouble you caused. We all probably would have been better off if Knives had just killed you along with your parents. But he didn't, and now you've gotten yourself so involved that even death can't save you." He shook his head. "But I have to admit, you impressed me back there. You single-handedly stopped Knives. That's not something that many can boast. Only two on the planet, in fact."

The dark figure stood, extending a hand over the cold body before him. "Sorry Buskus, but you're not finished here. Your time to die isn't now. Who knows, maybe once you're back I can convince you that you aren't so different from the rest of us." He sighed. "I know I'm going to regret this."

No one besides the revived and the reviver was present to witness the sight of life returning to flow through Frey's veins. Moratus dropped his hand as he finished, looking thoughtfully at the young woman one more time.

"Who knows," he murmured, "maybe you really are different." And he disappeared.

"Coming," Meryl called half-heartedly to Vash from up the stairs. Sighing, she stood and began to make her way to the staircase.

Abruptly she stopped. The door to her left, the door that led to the room where Frey was, seemed to be almost calling out to her. She shook her head at the ridiculousness of that thought and tried to keep walking, but found herself unable to. Curious, and slightly confused, she turned away from the waiting man downstairs and apprehensively grasped the doorknob.

The sight of Frey's face surprised her. Glancing at the sheet on the floor and the open window, she quickly concluded that the wind must have blown it off during the night. She ignored the nagging voice in the back of her mind that reminded her that there had been no wind for days, if not weeks.

Quickly she grabbed the white material on the wooden floor, but she stopped before placing it back over Frey. Her azure eyes locked on the younger woman's face, and she gasped in surprise. Was that color in her cheeks? The sheet slipped from her fingers, and she shakily made her way to the bed, pressing her fingers to Frey's wrist. She froze.

Meryl was numbly aware of Vash's voice, calling her again and steadily getting closer. But she couldn't yell back. She couldn't even speak. She just waited until the Stampede found her at Frey's bedside.

"Meryl, what are you doing?" Meryl turned her head to look at the man in the doorway, a tear rolling down her cheek.

"Vash," she whispered hoarsely, "she has a pulse."

Wolfwood opened one eye as the figure in the bed he was sitting at the foot of stirred. After a moment he prepared to close it again, but this time the person kept moving. The woman was regaining consciousness.

Her arm was bandaged and in a carefully made sling. Wolfwood smiled as she cursed the pain as she moved the arm. Then she opened her eyes. The young woman stared at the ceiling for a moment in which Wolfwood could only guess she was remembering everything that had happened. She bolted up.

The first thing she noticed was the figure of Michael, sitting in a chair at her bedside. She opened her mouth to speak to him, but bit her tongue as she realized that he was fast asleep.

"He's hardly left your side for the past three days."

She jumped and looked at Wolfwood, wide-eyed. She hadn't noticed him. Upon recognizing the priest, she smiled.

"It's almost embarrassing to see my only son so head-over-heels for a girl, but then again, it is you." She laughed appreciatively, and Wolfwood's expression softened.

"Hey, kid."

"Hello, Wolfwood."

After a few moments her smile faded as she came back to reality. "And what of Knives?" she asked quietly, staring at her hands, which were clenching the bed sheets.

"He's dead," Wolfwood answered bluntly.

"Oh," was all she said, though she had a somewhat difficult time believing it.

Wolfwood leaned back in his chair, resting his feet on the edge of her bed, and put his arms up behind his head.

"You know, you really amazed us all back there."

She shrugged.

"We thought you were dead."

"I thought I was dead."

Wolfwood looked at her appraisingly. "You mean you thought you were going to die and you still did it?"

"Yeah."

He shook his head. "I don't see how you're being so nonchalant about it. We all thought you were dead, Frey. It wasn't until we got back here that you started showing signs of life again. You should have seen Michael."

Frey responded with a bittersweet smile. "That's the first time you've said my name."

Wolfwood rolled his eyes, knowing that if she didn't want to talk about it he wasn't going to get anything out of her. He pulled out a cigarette. Frey leaned back against her headboard.

Then she bolted back up. "What about Alec!"

Wolfwood smirked. "He's fine, just fine."

"So, I guess everyone knows about what happened."

"They know what we told them."

Frey raised an eyebrow. "And that is . . ."

Wolfwood sighed and looked up at her, smoke floating up past his face and disappearing at the ceiling. "Frey, I know there's something more to all of this than you and Vash have told us, all of us that were there do. We saw Vash, and the shock on his face when he saw you using the angel arm. I've never seen him so defenseless, helpless. There was something going on there that the rest of us aren't aware of."

Frey shifted awkwardly, surprised at his perceptiveness and thinking about the Rem factor.

"But," Wolfwood continued, "that's between you and Vash really, and we're content just accepting that the reason he couldn't fight back was because it was you. That's what we told Carly, Sloan, Milly, and Meryl, anyway." He smiled, sensing her next question before she asked it. "Don't worry. They all know you're innocent and wanted nothing to do with Knives in the first place." She sighed in relief.

"Thanks, Wolfwood."

The priest just smiled and winked at her, nodding his head in the direction of the door. "They're waiting for you." She smiled and climbed out of bed. Wolfwood tossed something to her, which she easily caught. It was her red jacket.

"You found it?"

"Michael and Aidan wouldn't leave the city until we did."

Smiling, she donned it over what she recognized to be some of Aidan's clothes.

"What about-"

"Just let him sleep. He'll get to see you when he wakes up." Convinced, she walked out the door, Wolfwood right behind her.

They were at Milly's house. Frey could hear everyone's voices floating from the living room. She smiled as she descended, comforted by the familiar tones.

Alec was the first to see her. He jumped out of his chair and started to run to her, but his wound hindered him and he stumbled before taking two steps. Aidan reflexively reached out to steady him, which he willingly allowed. Frey smirked as the two glanced at each other and then quickly away, blushing.

In a matter of moments the two had reached her. Alec hugged her first, swinging her around a few times and laughing. Aidan pushed him out of the way and took her turn. Frey took the opportunity to whisper in her ear, motioning toward Alec.

"Congratulations." Aidan's face instantly flushed, deepening past the color of her hair. The flustered girl was quickly pushed out of the way, however, by a bawling Milly. She gave Frey a huge bear hug, only releasing her as she heard Frey's muttered protests that her injured arm was being smashed.

"Oh Frey, thank goodness you're okay!" she cried. Frey's eyes widened in surprise. She wasn't used to being spoken to in that way, at least she hadn't been until she had met them.

Sloan stepped forward, smiling, and shook her hand. She took it gratefully, knowing his trust wasn't something easily gained.

Meryl and Carly followed with more tears and hugs. Last of all, Frey glanced at Vash, who just winked at her and smiled from the couch.

The tender moment was broken by a yell from upstairs, followed by what sounded like a chair being thrown to the ground and footsteps pounding down the stairs. Michael burst into the room, gasping for breath.

"Where is she!"

The group collectively started laughing, with the exception of Frey. She practically trampled Sloan as she leaped toward Michael and jumped into his arms, knocking him to the ground. He landed with a heavy thud and "oomph," the wind being knocked out of him.

Frey started to apologize, standing up and extending a hand to help the fallen boy to his feet. Michael grabbed it, but instead of pulling himself up he pulled her down to him. Releasing her hand and placing his hand behind her head, he pulled her down into a kiss.

The two stopped as Alec whistled, but only long enough for Michael to take his shoe off and chuck it at Alec, hitting him squarely between the eyes. Vash buckled over laughing at the mark on Alec's forehead. Meryl rolled her eyes and sighed in feigned disgust, and Alec glared at him, muttering, "oh shut it."

Frey extended her left arm in front of her over the well in the center of town. She was alone. It was sunset, and everyone else had retired from town square long ago.

She took one last look at the black Long Colt. It had been on her bedside table. She never wanted to see it again. Silently she loosened her grip, and the weapon slipped from her grasp, drowning itself and her past in the dark water with a soft splash. Shortly after the faint, echoing noise, she heard footsteps behind her.

"Can I join you?"

Sure.

Vash walked up beside her, his blue-green eyes looking into the deep well.

It's finally over.

Yes.

Vash reached into his pocket and withdrew his yellow sunglasses, holding them out in front of her. She looked up at him, her copper eyes reflecting her surprise.

"I can't accept these-"

"No. I want you to have them . . . to remember by. Besides, your other ones won't do you much good."

Her eyes widened.

"You . . . you know I'm leav-"

"It's not that hard to figure out."

Deciding not to respond, she slowly lifted the canary lenses from his outstretched hand and ceremonially placed them over her eyes.

"Well?"

"A perfect fit." She smiled and looked back down at the well, placing her hands on it and leaning forward.

"Knives isn't really dead, is he?"

Vash sighed. "Actually, Frey, he is. Now don't go assuming I've broken any vows or anything," he quickly added, knowing what she would think, "but he is dead. After your little stunt, he . . . he committed suicide."

Frey was too perceptive to miss the mixed sorrow and relief in his tone.

"Knives? Knives really gave up?"

"I guess so."

She sighed. So it was all really over, for both her and Vash. One single gunshot, and all the sin, suffering, and pain they had been caused had vanished.

Vash closed his eyes in contemplation. "You're still going to leave, aren't you."

Frey nodded. Then, realizing he couldn't see her, she affirmed his guess in words.

"I just don't want to risk it."

"Risk what?"

"I've done some horrible things in my past, Vash. After all, I was with Knives for a full year before I ran away. A lot of people hate me. And the Gung-Ho Guns are still out there. Aren't you worried about them?"

There was silence for a few moments. Then Vash opened his mouth to speak.

"You know, Frey, someone very close to me once told me that even if we do make mistakes, we have the ability to do something about it and make better choices the next time." His eyes glazed over dreamily as her reminisced on Rem's words. "And if you keep your vision clear, you will see the future," he quoted softly, "what happens in our future is our own responsibility."

Frey looked down at her feet, her raven hair shading her face. "Thanks, Vash." He merely smiled and patted her on the shoulder, then turned to leave.

"Vash?"

"Yes?"

"How . . . how did I survive?"

"Sorry Frey, but I'm afraid I don't have an answer that will satisfy you."

"What do you mean?"

"None of us did anything to save you, Frey. We all thought you were dead. But once we got back here, it was as if you miraculously regained a pulse. None of us know how it happened. After all, considering everything that happened, you should have died. Perhaps you just underestimated yourself, though. Maybe we all did."

"Are you trying to say that I've just got an uncanny will to live or something?"

The Stampede shrugged, smiling. "If that's how you want to look at it." He turned to leave again, leaving a confused Frey staring after him. After a few moments she looked back down into the well, her thoughts getting lost in its depths.

"Thank you, Vash the Stampede. For everything."