CHAPTER EIGHT: Define 'Evil'

PART ONE…Quite Like Him…

Sticking out his lower lip, Vash scratched his forehead. Tessla mimicked him from her perch on his shoulder, lifting her pudgy little fingers with a smile. She craned out to see her father's hand move to his chin instead, and she followed the action.

Vanessa laughed, soft and gentle. All she could see at this distance was the gesture, which was undoubtedly cute. It was Vash's expression she couldn't know.

Tessla grinned, but turned to staring at the painting like her father. "Not daddy," she commented simply.

Vash grunted to the affirmative. He sighed, snapping back into reality. "Yep, not daddy. That's your uncle, baby bear."

The huge canvas was tilted against the wall. On either side, equally large canvases lay stacked upon one another. Each was a vibrant oil painting of some memory or imagined scene. They were all beautiful – uncannily lovely if a little disturbing sometimes. This work was no exception.

"You did it better than the daddy ones," Tessla continued, in Vanessa's direction. Calling her 'mommy' wasn't a habit. She lifted her eyebrows in confusion, causing a tiny wrinkle in her delicate forehead. "How come?"

Shifting her pose, Vanessa began to clean up the workspace. "Painting daddy got boring," she explained. Wiping her glass palate clean, she moved with far more confidence and far less pain than before. Only her scars and poor eyesight remained as proof of her bouts with weakness. "Tessla, if you would sit still for it, you know I'd paint you. Ever since you hit three weeks, you've been a jumping bean."

Vash remained rather quiet, and bent to let Tessla to the floor.

With her tiny fingers, she gripped his pant leg to steady herself. Her legs hadn't become fully accustomed to standing yet. She glanced up at her father's face, studying it silently, and then walked clumsily towards the canvas. Looking back and forth between Vash's face and the painting, she came to a telling conclusion. "Daddy, how come I look most like Uncle Knives than you and her?"

Nearly choking on the air, Vash forced a chuckle. "He and I, we're twins, so it kind of makes sense. Don't worry about that stuff, okay little bear?"

In truth, she was so right. Her hair was far paler than Vanessa's, and slightly paler than Knives'. With that stark white-blonde hair, and slate blue eyes, she was so very like her uncle. Even her sharp, serious nature struck him as though she were a little female Knives. It was eerie, and he squirmed at the fact.

Vanessa, now standing close by, squinted to examine his expression while he thought. She frowned, knowing well enough what he must be thinking. "I never did, Vash. Never."

Vash smiled goofily, hiding his worry. "What do you mean?"

"There's no way," she continued dryly. "No doubt about it. Questioning legitimacy is not only unnecessary, it's rather insulting."

Vash waved his hands defensively. "I didn't say anything."

OXO

Knives sneezed, startling Nuisance. The long, thin cat stared up at him a moment before settling back into the folds of his blanket. Rubbing his nose against his wrist, Knives leaned forward, careful not to move his legs from beneath the snuggling cat.

"I think I'm coming down with something," he mumbled. "Or perhaps it's just the dust settling. Sneeze after sneeze, all of the sudden." He closed his eyes, wondering about the absent plants. Prayerfully he thought of them, wishing safety for the little Tessla and hoping that Vanessa would regain her sight and leave that worthless brother. Or at least that damned Vash would be a protector or provider somehow, though it was so doubtful. Vash was a good-for-nothing. Knives should've been the father.

Frowning, he shook his head. "Got to stop with the 'what if's, right Nuisance?" Getting no verbal reply, he reached down to stroke the soft ears and neck. He looked up at the huge plant bulb beside the catwalk he'd set up his bed upon, staring intently upon the curled plant angel at the core. He could tell just by the total mass that she was fully pregnant now. Any day now…

"Even they believe it," he whispered reverently to no one. "I deserve a second chance. They're giving me this for a reason." Placing his hands over his heart, he gazed in awe, displaying his reverence as best as he thought to before leaning back under his blankets.

Later that night, hours before first dawn, Knives was awakened by an intense pain. His eyes flew open, and soon he was on his knees before the plant angel, watching the birth. Sweat rolled from his forehead as he watched, silent and gasping for breath. The excitement was intense, but the pain she was transferring in part to him was just as powerful. When the child finally dropped to the bulb surface, the plant angel's body relaxed.

Knives had to catch his breath enough to stand, and that was trying enough. When he finally stumbled down the catwalk, he made his way as quickly as possible to the bulb base. He hesitated at the bay, finally slicing a locker open to encase his body in the protective suit. Being within the bulb was too much for him at that point.

Within the stuffy atmosphere, he rushed to the bawling baby, lifting it into his gloved hands and stepping gingerly to exit with it.

Once outside, he hugged it to his chest as he eased his own helmet and gloves off. Finally, eyes widened with a shocking anticipation, he examined the infant. It seemed healthy, all fingers and toes accounted for. Bald head, chubby body, warm, sticky stuff coating it. Coating her. It was a she. She was beautiful, of course.

Knives painfully stifled a loud laugh of joy, forcing tiny jolts of giggling to course through his body. He wiped the little face with his glove and took her to his blankets. After she was rightly swathed and cleaned with lukewarm water, her crying faded. Eventually, she slept. All this time, Knives was entranced. How could he not be, with all these thoughts of the future dancing surreal in his mind?

"Name…a name," he demanded of himself. "Vanessa's name was perfect for her. Yours should be respectively correct. Vanessa…butterfly…

nymph…Yes, nymph. You're my lovely nymph." He paused, recalling the mythology. "Callisto," he decided. "Hello, Callisto!"

His smile was huge and genuine. His affection for this tiny creature was that of a father and brother and apostle all the same. But his assumptions about her were entirely incorrect, and these moments of delightful ignorance were the last he would have for some time.