Author's Note: Ack, after weeks upon weeks of wrestling with that brain-seizing blockage monster we all know and hate, I've managed to get well into chapter 14 and therefore feel safe in posting 13 here. It's long, leisurely, and involves a major change in setting. Chapter title credit goes to an excellent book called Lies My Teacher Told Me: Everything Your American History Textbook Got Wrong, by Professor James Loewen.

So. Enjoy.

Chapter Thirteen: Lies My Teacher Told Me
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"You're obviously going after Knives -- what do you intend to do once you find him?"

"Many years ago he stole someone who was very important to me."

"So you want revenge."

"I don't know. I really don't know."

Vash and Wolfwood, episode 23, "Paradise"
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On the first day, there was silence.

By unspoken agreement the twins left the rickety Jeep behind for the girls. Knives hadn't said anything, but Vash knew his brother was in desperate need of exercise. A month lying in bed wounded had done absolutely nothing for him except give him more time to think than could possibly be healthy. Knives' body was wasted, his muscles starting to atrophy, strength starting to dwindle. A neglected plant withering in the dark, Vash thought.

So they left the Jeep behind and set out on foot, spending their first hour away from shelter in a comfortable, all-encompassing silence. The suns weren't yet high enough to be painfully hot, and the bare whisper of a breeze wasn't strong enough to throw dust in their faces. All tension and hurt was carefully put aside as they trudged through the sands, eyes on the horizon.

But after a while Knives' limp got more pronounced and his breath became more ragged, and the solemn beauty of the morning cracked a little more with every staggering step he took. Vash wordlessly took his brother's pack and shouldered it next to his own. He'd given Knives all the light things; it wasn't much of a burden, but things got heavier when you were in pain. And for a little while, losing the extra weight seemed to work -- Knives walked easier and limped less when he didn't have to carry anything.

That particular solution only lasted a little over an hour. At just past noon, when the suns were high and hot and sweat was starting to make Vash's shirt stick to his sides, Knives collapsed onto one knee in the sand. His breathing was ragged and uneven.

New Oregon was only a few shallow dunes away, but Vash didn't want to push his brother too far at once, and more than anything he didn't want Knives to associate his first taste of planetside human society with the pain of a reopened wound.

The surrounding land was fairly stony; the bedrock here protected the area from sandworms and made it impossible for vipers to build dens, making it an ideal location for a city. It also meant that there were plenty of high, sharp outcroppings of rock protruding out of the earth like splinters of bone. Vash was all too familiar with this particular location; he'd stayed here dozens of times on his way to the rendezvous point where Sky City's now-defunct flyer used to pick him up for visits home.

Vash knelt by Knives, who was now crouched on the ground regaining his breath. "There's shade maybe ten minutes from here," Vash said. "Shelter until the worst of the sun is past." He didn't mention Knives' barely-scabbed wound.

Knives nodded wordlessly and hauled himself upright with a choked-back whimper of agony. Vash led the way, casting concerned glances over his shoulder as Knives lagged further and further behind. His twin would not ask for help; Vash knew that much. But until Knives started healing in both body and mind, Vash wanted to interfere as little as possible. Let Knives make this short walk by himself. If nothing else, it would give better exercise than leaning on Vash's shoulder the whole way.

The outcropping Vash led them to was huge, the hollow in its leeward face clearly not a natural phenomenon. The air was so dry that the shaded ground was nearly twenty degrees cooler than everything outside. Knives managed not to fall apart entirely, dignified enough to sit without help. As soon as he was off his feet, though, he slumped back against the rock wall like a man on the verge of death.

"You okay?" Vash asked. He was barely short of breath and most of his sweat had already dried off in the shade. Of course, he was much more accustomed to walking long distances. Some deep-down buried part of him was cheering at the sight of Knives suffering the same adjustment Vash had gone through decades ago.

Knives nodded, swallowing dryly and refusing to meet Vash's concerned gaze.

Vash slung the two packs to the ground and passed Knives a canteen of water. Watching him as he drank -- first in deep gulps, then more slowly, as if savoring every drop of the cool liquid -- Vash realized how truly wretched Knives looked. His ashen skin, already peppered with yellowing bruises, was now blotched pink with exertion and the beginnings of a sunburn. Though still unnaturally pale, Vash had tanned enough to withstand long exposure to the sun. Knives hadn't, and he was suffering for it.

"Gonna have to wear a hat or something," Vash said into the uncomfortable silence. Knives looked up, startled and questioning. Vash gestured vaguely at Knives' face. "You're burning. Been inside for too long. I can rig some kind of cover out of a spare shirt or something"

Knives blinked in response.

Vash shrugged, then held out his hand for the water. "Was just sayin'," he muttered.

Just when Vash had become convinced that Knives wasn't going to say a word while they waited out the noon sun, his brother's rasping voice caught him in the middle of taking a swig of water.

"Vashu."

Vash started, swallowed some water the wrong way and spent the next five minutes coughing.

"Guh," Vash managed finally. "Don't do that. Say what now?"

He was shaken, and not just because of the unexpected coughing fit. Knives hadn't called him Vashu since they were children; the last time he'd heard that name was over a century ago. Had Knives had really remembered the nickname, or was it merely an endearment he'd thought of on a whim while they rested here?

Knives was speaking again; Vash struggled to bring himself back to the present to listen.

"This cliff, this shelter. It's been carved in. You can see the lines, scratch marks. Who made it?"

Vash looked up at the meager half-roof the hollow afforded, and the rich blue sky beyond. "Sand vipers," he said. "The bedrock is too solid for them to build real dens here, but they come through this region a lot. Free-range tomas herds move in fairly predictable paths between the cooler highlands down south and the deep desert to the north. Vipers follow them, hole up in the deep sands whenever the tomases settle for the season, then prey on the weak members of the herd. Since they can't build real dens while they're on the move, they make these shelters in cliff faces." Vash patted the cool, rough stone fondly. "They scratch out a little more space with each season. This one's old. I've stayed here before."

Knives stared at the place where the stone wall sloped down into the sand. He was thinking about what Jessica had said -- comparing him to a toothless viper bleeding on a doorstep. "The vipers aren't here now?" he asked.

"Nah," Vash said, leaning back against the wall and passing the canteen back to Knives. "It isn't the season for them. The tomases won't pass through for a couple of months yet."

Knives let his eyes drift half-shut in thought. "If they can make these partial caves in solid stone, why can't they build dens in bedrock?" he wondered aloud, not expecting an answer.

Vash surprised him by giving one. "Race memory, maybe... vipers have adapted to the surface environment, but they evolved from a different species that lived underground, near reservoirs. Slives. They were tunnelers. Stronger than vipers, but slower. Venomous. They're mostly extinct now." Vash fell silent, looking morose.

Knives got the sense that Vash was holding something back. He also felt the stirrings of a half-dead memory; the mere name of the slives brought back a distinct feeling of disgust and fear. He decided he didn't really want to know any more about them, but at the same time he couldn't help feeling a sort of morbid curiosity.

Vash levered himself to his feet with a grunting sound that Knives took to mean the conversation was over. "I don't think you should get out in the sun again for a couple of hours," Vash said, stepping right up to the edge of the cliff's shadow and peering up at the blinding sky. "Get some sleep. You need as much as you can get and this is about the safest kind of shelter you can find around here. Other animals steer clear because it's viper-made, and most bandits don't come this far off the roads."

"Bandits?" Knives asked blankly.

Vash's back was turned, so Knives didn't see the wince that passed over his face. Damn it, Vash thought privately. I can't slip up like that. He doesn't need to know about the bad in humans until he's had a taste of the good.

"People who steal from others," Vash said shortly.

"Oh." Knives didn't question him further, for which Vash was grateful.

"I'm going on," Vash said, moving back to Knives' side to pick up the lighter of the packs and shoulder it. "There's a town not far from here, and I need to talk to someone there. I'll be back in an hour or two. You sleep, eat something and keep healing. We can leave when it's cooler and stay in town for the night -- it won't take much more than an hour to get there."

Knives did the mental math. Vash was clearly anticipating that Knives would slow him down. The thought made Knives uncomfortable.

"All right," was all Knives said.

Vash spoke a little longer, but Knives wasn't listening. When his brother walked away into the desert, he watched in silence.

Knives tossed and turned in a fitful doze, unintentionally flinging away the rolled-up cloak he was using for a pillow. He made small choking noises in his sleep.

"A man walks into a hotel." Loud, raucous voice. The smell of alcohol. An unfunny joke bellowed at the top of unseemingly full-voiced lungs. "A man walks into a hotel, hands the innkeeper three nails and he asks --" (I don't want to hear the end of this joke, I really don't) -- "CAN YOU PUT ME UP FOR THE NIGHT!" Heartless laughter and groans from the others, from Mary and Rowan and Joey the captain. Who was the cruel voice? Did it have a name? Knives couldn't remember.

Don't you remember?

They're making a different kind of Eden! With no wars, and no stealing...

It's a different kind of Eden all right. Not only with stealing, but also full of misunderstanding and distrust and cruelty and unfunny jokes.

Yet...

Yet there was the memory of Milly feeding him, easing his humiliation with kind words. Of Jessica cutting his hair, putting aside her hatred in favor of a few moments' peace. True memories, not broken or buried, untouched by whatever trauma had eaten away the rest of his past. True kindness.

Here, also, were memories of black hair like a ravens' wing arrayed against glass clouded with cold and ice; a fine-boned hand stroking through the crushed-silk green of the rec room floor; chocolate eyes shining with hope, upturned to a cloudless holographic sky.

And connected with those images -- bitterness and hatred. A film of grime over the porcelain, tarnish rotting away the silver, leeches digging ever-deeper into the unmarred flesh. Her flesh was not like Vash's. Her flesh was pristine, pale. He hated it. Hated her -- hated her sensibility, her practicality, her teachings and her love. Hated them because they stole Vash away from him, because they made her the only link, the only bridge between himself and his twin. There was nothing he could say to Vash that didn't first require him to pass the test of her standards, and her only standard was absolute perfection, and how could he ever be that?

I will be perfect. I am perfect. It's only the others who aren't.

Vash loved her, and yet Knives knew she was false. He'd seen the way she composed her expressions and measured her words. She was conditioning them, and Vash was oblivious. How could he not be angry? How could he not be frustrated? How could he possibly be at fault for wanting to save his brother from the love of a woman who wanted nothing from him but her own personal angel to go with her own personal Eden?

He remembered begging.

Why? Sister, Sisters, why am I afraid of her? She's lulling him and I'm afraid he'll never wake up.

This is our life and this is our essence and we are the light and the one made of many and we know nothing but this one truth and we do not know what the small one means by hate or love or fear. Why is it necessary for you to feel so? It hurts us. You hurt us with your questions. You hurt us with your life.

Stop it. Stop asking questions. Stop hurting us. Stop it.

"It's a different kind of Eden, Knives! Don't you remember what Rem said?"

STOP SAYING HER NAME!

Screaming and screaming at the nothingness to stop, stop the hurting --

Spiraling down.

stop it stop it stop it stop it stop it stop it STOP IT STOP

"What if she was right? In that case, what I did was a huge mistake."

"You're just a human, like the rest of them. I know my choice is the right one."

NO, DON'T --

Knives jerked awake.

What was the word for this? There was a word for this. The feeling of falling, then waking flat on the ground. Spinning in two dimensions, stillness in the third. Disconcertion. Vertigo. Some scientific word that he couldn't remember.

Couldn't remember...

Knives rolled onto his side, curled up tight and ignored the pain in his stomach. It was dimmer outside the hollow -- late afternoon. Vash should be back. Shouldn't he?

Knives stared out at the vast landscape that made him feel so small and thought about his dream. Every fragment that came to him was only a tiny piece of a puzzle so complex that he didn't even know what it was about, much less how to start putting the pieces together. These dreams were useless, maddening -- and yet he longed for each one to come faster, to give him a little more taste of reality, no matter whether that reality tasted sweet or bloody.

He could see only two possibilities -- either he was severely mentally disturbed and no one had the heart to tell him so, or something had gone very, very wrong in his past. Either way, his own lack of knowledge about himself was terrifying. It was like being tied down in a small, locked room with no lights and no air, screaming for help into a vacuum.

As he lay there, panicked into utter stillness, words came to him. Words he both knew and didn't know; words that touched something deep and strong within him, that loosened the knots and allowed him to breathe a little easier. Without thinking, he murmured the phrase aloud.

"It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to, than I have ever known."

Knives realized that he was shaking.

"Is Max Simon around?"

"He's in the back room. May I ask who--"

"Vash! 'S that you, kid?"

A door slammed open. The secretary, who was obviously new, winced and cast a sideways glance at the battered doorframe to see if today was the day it would finally crack and bring the whole wall down on the eccentric weatherman's head. Apparently it wasn't. The secretary heaved a sigh of relief and proceeded to ignore both men.

Vash laughed and scratched the back of his head, his usual humble-cum-awkward greeting for old friends. "He-ey, Max! How's the weather looking?"

Short, stocky and good-tempered as usual, Max near-bellowed with laughter. "You want the bit about the sun, or the bit about the heat? Kinda can't have one without the other, and we got both, and lots of 'em at that. Where've you been, kid? Seein' how the old-timers are doing now they're stuck in the same mess as the rest of us?"

While he was talking, Max led the way into the back room and gave the ancient framework another integrity check when he closed the door behind him. Vash let the pack slide from his shoulder to the floor while Max took a seat on top of several scattered charts on his desk.

"You could say that," Vash replied, settling back against the wall. He let his smile fade, and Max's expression fell along with it. Vash not smiling was never a good sign.

"What's happened?" Max asked levelly.

Vash looked away for a couple of breaths, preparing himself. "Doc's dead," he said finally, looking back at his old friend. "And there's a lot of people hurt. Crash victims, planetside diseases they've never seen before, a lot of unrest and distrust flying around. I... I couldn't do anything. I'm so sorry I had to bring the news about Doc, Max, but you needed to know..."

Max had been a friend of the Doctor's for years -- not as long as Vash, but long enough. His face fell even further with the news. "I see," he said blankly, even though he didn't really. Vash knew he didn't. It would take a long time -- maybe even a trip to the fallen city himself, to look with his own eyes -- before Max would really see.

"There's something else," Vash said. "I need a favor."

"Still hunting for that brother of yours?" Max asked hollowly, misinterpreting Vash's words. "I've had no news lately. Seems all the strange disappearances have stopped completely for the last month or so."

"I know," Vash said, bracing himself against the wall. "That's because Knives was with me."

Max didn't even react, just stared. Complete information overload. Vash hadn't seen him like this since he'd first told him about his past. He kicked himself mentally -- he should have broken the news more gently, but he didn't really have the time. He wanted to get back into the desert as soon as possible.

"Knives was with you," Max repeated.

"Yes," said Vash.

"The murderer of millions, the one who framed you for nearly everything the legends say you've done, was with you. For a month. And yet you seem to be very alive."

"Yes," said Vash, "he has amnesia."

Max shook his head slowly. "The evil twin has amnesia," he muttered to himself. "Of all the things..."

Vash frowned. "He's not evil."

"Oh, he's not evil, says the man with half his chest ripped off and most of his limbs reattached with string and glue," Max burst out sarcastically. "What the hell are you thinking, you stupid sonuvabitch?"

The frown deepened. "I'm taking care of him. He's my own flesh and blood, thanks. Besides, he barely remembers anything -- I had to teach him English all over again, it was that bad. We were on the ship until now, but a mob organized against him. He's injured and confused and I just want to get him somewhere safe where he can learn how to live again, better this time."

Max's mild hysteria was alleviated by Vash's words, but not completely. "What are you suggesting, bringing him into Oregon? Vash..." His expression softened slightly. "Vash, I could take it, but the people here don't want him."

"They don't even know him," Vash objected.

"They don't want to see anyone from the ship," Max clarified. "If you come from that direction, they'll drive you out. Besides, the Fris and Polo families haven't vanished -- you're not exactly an enemy, but they won't do right by you either. That Slater kid has it out for you, says you humiliated him and slandered the Polo family name by not letting him kill that crazy father. You can't stay."

Vash shook his head. "You misunderstand me," he said. "I don't want to stay. Just want to pass through, hopefully sleep in peace for one night. We're heading for Terma, but I want to ease Knives into a smaller town before we get to a full-fledged city."

Max sighed in resignation. "So, you said something about a favor?"

"Advice. News. Someplace to stay," Vash said. "I figure things have been pretty shook up since the big uproar between the powerhouse families and Sky City's crash. Wanted to check that my hideouts are still in place before I showed up with a liability like Knives."

Max shook his head. "You're pretty much screwed there, kid. Business in this town was nearly all monopolized by the Polo family, but they've gone nuts and the economy's pretty much kaput by now. All sorts of staff switch-ups, people unemployed. You've got few friends left here."

"Anything at all? Anyone?" Vash asked, dismayed.

Max hesitated, then heaved a great sigh and said, "Yeah, yeah Vash. There's me."

Vash blinked, straightening. "I didn't mean --"

"The Montague caravan's passing by from the north of town around first sunset; you go around a bit, come down from that direction like you just got off the caravan and no one'll ever have to know you came from the ship. I'll take a couple of tomases out to the old stoneworker's -- you know where. You two can stay with me and the girls tonight."

"Max, I didn't want to impose on you --"

"Look, Vash," Max said bluntly, "if you don't stick close to me you're gonna be taking a huge risk. This town's in chaos right now, no nicer way of putting it. If you wanna put your oh-so-beloved maniac into that kind of a situation, be my guest, but I'd rather you stayed with me. I don't want anywhere near him, but I want other people near him even less. I'm willing to do this for the town's sake."

Vash winced. "Max... Look, I'm not going to argue about Knives, I know this whole thing is hard to accept. But when you see him --"

"I won't screw up whatever you're trying to do for him," Max said, "or to him, whatever the hell you're thinking. I'll be civil. I won't tell him about his past. But I don't like it, Vash -- if he has amnesia like you say, then keeping up this act is only going to torment him. It's like putting a mad criminal in an isolation tank -- and they outlawed that nearly forty years ago 'cause it was deemed inhumane. Or don't you remember?"

Vash shook his head helplessly. "It's the only thing I can do," he said. "If I tell him everything now, it'll just make it harder for me to get through to him afterwards. Maybe impossible."

"How do you know that?" Max asked. "You ask him?"

"No, but --"

"Just bring him here, Vash," Max interrupted with a sigh. "And keep your head low. I worry for you sometimes."

"You're late."

"Hey! Right where I left you, huh? Did you sleep?"

"Doesn't matter. I'm awake now. And you're late."

Vash flumped down in the sand, tugging at his sweat-stained shirt collar. "Sorry, I nosed around town a little bit. I've talked to an old friend of mine there, and he's going to put us up for the night."

"Three nails," Knives murmured under his breath.

"What was that?" Vash asked distractedly, busily digging through the packs and switching items between them.

"Nothing," Knives said quietly. He was slowly beginning to learn the body language of unobtrusiveness, creating a mask of invisibility to keep Vash unconcerned about him and, therefore, out of his thoughts. He didn't know exactly why, but he didn't want Vash to know that he was beginning to remember. Not yet anyway.

Maybe it was because of that distance that appeared in Vash's eyes whenever Knives said anything about the past. Maybe it was because, all of a sudden, Knives would once again be faced with that forbidden link, that impossible standard of perfection. Maybe it was because, for the first time in what felt like eternity, she (whoever she was) was truly dead -- and Knives wanted her to stay that way.

"Vash," Knives said suddenly.

"Hm-mm?" Vash shook a canteen to see if it was empty, found that it was, and shoved it to the bottom of his own pack, transferring a full one to Knives'.

"How old am I -- are we?"

Vash faltered, hands clenching convulsively around the neck of Knives' duffel. "Why?" he asked after a moment. "Do you feel... old?"

Knives looked out at the empty horizon with its pre-sunset haze, all salmon and pale orange and blurry. "No," he said softly. "I feel too young. I feel like nothing is behind me, and everything's ahead."

Vash relaxed visibly, even going so far as to smile at Knives' words. "We're not that old, Knives," he said in a reassuring tone. "Compared to the planet we're hardly more than infants, y'know? And it's good to look forward to what's ahead -- it's good not to worry to much about the past. Your ticket to the future is always blank."

Knives just nodded, knowing Vash would never really give him a straight answer -- not on this, and not on any other topic he chose to question. He hadn't really expected one this time, which was why he had chosen his words so carefully. But what Knives didn't tell Vash was that the nothingness behind him was not so much a starting line as it was the edge of a cliff; and Knives felt that if he wasn't careful, he would lose his balance and fall back into the terrible void.

All he felt was vertigo. Vertigo and disconcertion... and something else he couldn't remember.

The walk to town was comparatively short, but it had the illusion of length. The suns set quickly, making time seem like it was passing at an inordinate rate; hours of daylight gone in mere moments.

Plus, there was the illusion of never quite reaching their destination -- as soon as the city of New Oregon was in sight on the horizon, Vash turned to the side and started walking around it to the north. Knives followed without question, although his low mood and the pain in his legs and abdomen were not improved any by the sight of untouchable shelter and comfort in the near distance.

Right about when the larger of the two suns sank into the earth, a line of billowing dust not far to the north caught Knives' eye. He caught up with Vash in a couple of long, painful strides, nudged his brother's shoulder and pointed.

Vash nodded. "That should be the caravan passing by. We're coming down to the city from that direction -- it'll be easier to get in that way." It was only a half-truth, of course, but Vash didn't feel like elaborating and Knives didn't question him.

Actually, Vash was becoming more and more concerned about Knives' apparent lack of curiosity. He never opposed Vash, never argued any point, never pushed when Vash didn't feel like talking. He wasn't at all like the straightforward Knives of the past, who had always been prowling for more information, manipulating and seducing and even torturing to get people to talk. Vash supposed he should be grateful that Knives hadn't remembered any of that... that he had changed into someone much calmer, more lucid and accepting. But still -- it was eerie and Vash didn't like it, didn't like it at all.

I've lost my enemy, but I've lost my brother as well, Vash thought, glancing over his shoulder at the injured man struggling along behind him. Is this really what I wanted?

Max was waiting for them just as he'd promised, holding one of his prized pure-bred tomases by a halter. Ever since he'd won New Oregon's 10th annual tomas derby, he'd kept on breeding the pack animals as a hobby on the side of his forecasting job. He'd always liked the creatures -- he liked to relate them to Vash, in fact, saying that both Plant and beast were bird-brained and too useful for their own good. That was usually right before he warned Vash (yet again) about being taken advantage of.

Knives was fascinated by the tomas, who sank under the weight of his and Vash's packs without complaint. He tried to touch it, but the beast shied away at the scent of him, sensing that he wasn't fully human. Its eyes rolled back towards Max, wide enough to show a rim of white around the edges.

"There, boy," Max crooned, moving up to the beast's neck and patting it reassuringly. "No enemies here."

Knives didn't miss the barely-audible note of sarcasm in the man's voice.

Max's "girls" turned out to be a sister, a friendly old dog, and half a dozen female tomases grazing in a well-tended patch of grass out back. The house itself was stone with wood trim, just like all the others in town. Knives found it entirely alien, having seen nothing outside the metal walls of the ship -- he couldn't keep his eyes off things, head swinging around unconsciously to catch a glimpse of whatever strange things were behind him, above him, off to the sides.

The tomases cawed loudly and trotted away from him as he and Vash drew near, but the long-haired mutt ambled towards them without a care in the world, favoring her back leg when she walked. She acknowledged Max, then sniffed at Vash before moving on to Knives, who she promptly tried to jump on.

Knives' eyes widened in an expression of helpless panic that made Vash snort with barely-suppressed laughter. He covered it up quickly when Knives gave him an accusing glare.

Max didn't bother hiding his amusement. "Lacey, down girl. Lacey! Aw, she doesn't mean any harm by it... she likes you, that's all. Pet her and she'll get down. Mind you, she'll never leave you alone again neither. Oy, Sophie!"

Max's older sister came out of the house wiping floury hands on her jeans, and called a greeting with a smile. Max and Vash went on ahead to talk to her, but Knives lagged behind, feeling awkward and left-out. He gave Sophie a vague, mechanical smile when she waved at him, but he didn't feel it. These were people he didn't know -- Vash's friends, always Vash's friends, people Vash knew and Knives never would. It had been the same back at the ship. It had been the same back at the other ship, even, the first ship -- the unattainable link and the standard of perfection.

There was no way to get to Vash without going through a middleman, Knives decided. That was entirely what was wrong with this picture. Always had been.

A soft whining from somewhere around his knee made Knives look down. The dog -- Lacey? -- was staring up at him with big brown doe-eyes and a sad expression, if dogs had facial expressions. Knives had never seen a dog, or at least didn't remember seeing any, but for some reason the animal's inhuman appearance didn't bother him at all. In fact, he felt instantly more comfortable around this animal than he had around most humans.

Hesitantly, Knives reached down and laid a hand on Lacey's brown-furred head. It was surprisingly soft. She nuzzled her damp nose up between his fingers, trying to get him to scratch properly. He stroked a hand down her neck and back to feel more of the unbelievably soft fur, and her jaw immediately fell open in a tongue-lolling grin.

"Knives!" Vash and the others were standing on the porch -- Knives looked up and saw that it was Vash who'd called him. Vash beckoned for Knives to come join them.

Knives hesitated, giving Lacey a questioning look as if to ask Do you mind if I go? Lacey just grinned at him.

Just then, Sophie whistled. "Laaaacey, come on girl," she called. "Dinner, Lacey."

The dog gave Knives one last lick on the hand and galloped off to the house to eat her own dinner and then, hopefully, to beg lots of underhanded scraps off everyone else.

Knives walked up the the porch and dutifully met people, shaking hands and saying little. He watched his brother to see what to do, ate Sophie's homemade stew in silence, paid little attention to the niceties that were said. Sophie seemed nice. A lot like a grown-up version of Jessica, actually, right down to the braids. Knives risked smiling at her and found that she immediately took it as a sign to engage him in conversation. He gave mostly monosyllabic answers to her questions and she backed off soon enough, going back to Vash.

The man named Max remained almost as quiet as Knives. The Plant looked over at him from time to time but could never quite catch Max staring at him, though Knives could feel the man's eyes boring into him whenever Knives wasn't looking.

As soon as she'd finished with her own dinner, Lacey the mutt came over and settled quite comfortably on Knives' feet. He stroked her absently through most of dinner and the small talk afterwards, finding (as so many other house guests in the world had found before him) that being the one guest to entertain the family pet was the perfect excuse for ignoring everyone else. It also kept his hands occupied, which was more than a little comforting.

Because of his preoccupation with Lacey and his own thoughts, Knives didn't notice so much when Sophie left with the dishes or when Vash went to help her. Alone with Max and the dog, Knives finally sensed the quiet in the room and looked up.

Max was looking at him. Finally, Knives could meet the man's eyes and not feel so spyed-on. Knives sat up straighter, not sure what was about to happen but at least knowing that he could handle it better now than he could have earlier in the day.

"So," said Max. "You're Knives. I've heard a lot about you."

"Funny," Knives replied. "I haven't heard a lot about me."

Max's face broke into a grin -- not a particularly friendly grin, but it was better than the stern blankness of his expression before. "I like that," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I definitely like that. So Vash tells me you can't remember anything."

Oh, I remember, Knives though idly. Seconds at a time and never enough, but I do remember. "Not a thing," he said aloud, tonelessly.

Max leaned forward, elbows on knees, and gave Knives a serious I've-got-something-to-say look. "Look, kid. I don't know what you know, or how well you know your brother, but he's in serious trouble in this town. I didn't want to tell him earlier because he never listens to me, not really. But if you two go out anywhere and I'm not with you, you keep an eye out. Watch out for him, he needs the extra set of eyes. What he really needs is to avoid trouble in the first place instead of trying to find a bloodless way out of it; I want you to do that for him, if you can."

Knives put an unconscious hand to his stomach as sympathetic pain flared up at the idea of Vash getting hurt. "I will," he said softly.

Max looked relieved. "Okay. Okay. Thanks for that, at least." He leaned back in his seat. "You just be careful yourself, kid."

Knives raised an eyebrow in question.

"Never know what could happen in a place like this," Max said enigmatically.

Vash came back from the kitchen at that point, hands in pockets and a stupid grin plastered on his face for old times' sakes. "Are you trying to scare him, Max? Thought you only saved that for Halloween."

Max snorted. "I'm always scary, Vash. It's nearly ten. You leaving early tomorrow?"

Vash nodded. "Tryin' to get started earlier so we can get a lot of distance covered before noon."

"Then go to bed," Max said with finality, and promptly left to talk to Sophie in the kitchen.

Vash nodded to the hall door to his left. "You get the guest bed, I get the couch."

"Why?"

"Because I said so," Vash replied cheekily. "C'mon, I'll show you around first."

Knives got up to follow Vash, giving Lacey one last apologetic glance. She pouted up at him from the floor.

Halfway down the dark hallway to the guest bedroom, Knives spoke up. "Vash?"

"Hm?"

"How do you know Max?"

Vash didn't falter this time; he was learning to hide his deer-in-the-headlights panic whenever Knives asked delicate questions. Of course it would be madness to tell Knives that Max was the grand-nephew of a man Knives had killed over fifty years ago. Vash couldn't say that, obviously.

"He's an old friend of the ship people," Vash said mildly. It was the truth; Max had even lived on the ship for a year once, studying weather patterns. "Don't worry, Knives, they're nice people. It's not a bad town. You'll fit in fine."

But Knives remembered Max's fervent warning only a few minutes ago, and knew that Vash was lying.

"Truth is a whisper and only a choice
Nobody hears above this noise
Always a risk when you try and believe
I know there's so much more than me

I got caught in the ruse of the world
It's just a promise no one ever keeps
And now it's changing while we sleep
And no one here can see

You know all I am...
Can you teach me to believe in something?"
--Goo Goo Dolls, "Truth Is A Whisper"
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Review Replies: Rindeseyu - Actually I have a pretty good idea how long... cringes and cowers I'm sorry I suck so bad at pacing! But I'm glad you like the story anyway and am flattered that you keep reading despite my total lack of updating-ness:)

peridot 3783 - Yes! 'Assumed knowledge' is the exact problem that has haunted me throughout every math class I have ever taken in my entire life. So I kinda write Knives from personal experience on that front. :) And yeah, the Vash/Knives dynamic and the whole moral dilemma caused by the amnesia pretty much takes up all my writerly headspace, although I am trying to let the girls be their own, strong characters as well. I kinda had to drop them for a bit here so I could get Vash and Knives alone, but I'll weasel them back into the plot somehow. I haven't given up on Meryl and Milly, or indeed any other secondary characters, just yet. :)