I've got to piss. I'll have to remember not to overexert myself next time I nearly die. It makes the trip to the bathroom hardly worth the trek. It's too tiring to walk the hall, let alone stand. I sit to relieve myself, leaning against the toilet tank and enjoying the cold it gives off. I think I might have a fever.
I nearly fall asleep sitting there. Wouldn't that be an interesting thing to explain to the girls? I struggle up, staggering out of the room and use the wall for support. At least there aren't any pictures on the walls for me to knock down while I'm moving... okay, dragging along them.
There's a low noise that bothers me. I have to stop, just for a moment. Without the shuffling-drag of my feet, the noise is a little louder. It's weeping.
One of the women?
It's from inside the door I'm leaning on. I could keep going, my room is only one more door down and across the hall. Aww, hell. The door opens easily under my weight as soon as the knob is turned. I actually clutch at it when it swings to keep my balance.
"Vash?"
He stiffens, lifting his face from his hands and looks over at me. I've never seen his face this open.
He wipes nonchalantly at his eyes with the back of his hand, "You should be in bed."
"I had to use the bathroom," I reply with detached tones. He really is an angel. Only innocence can weep for the pain of the already damned. I stumble across the room, sitting down heavily at the foot of his bed. Thankfully his knees have been pulled up to his chest or I probably would have crushed one of his feet. I lay back with a groan. Why is his bed softer than mine? That's not fair.
"Then you should go back to bed." I can hear the smile in his voice, but it's the hollow one. I can tell without looking.
"Yours is better," I say with a sigh. It really is. If I can somehow pull my legs up onto this thing...
"Wolfwood, why would you leap in front of me?" He stumbles over the sentence. I'd entirely forgotten that particular conversation. Apparently he's anxious for an answer because the bed is shifting as he twitches. "Nicholas..."
The use of my given name draws my mind out of its blissful haze. I struggle to sit up, barely make it to my elbows and collapse again. I let out a frustrated sigh. "Because you're worth more than I am." It's an honest answer. It even hurt a little to admit, but I still feel better for saying it.
He snakes around and out of the blankets without kicking me--for which I am grateful. He's looming over me again. I wonder if I should tell him how uncomfortable it makes me. I doubt I will.
"I'm not worth more than you." He looks very serious, even a little angry.
"You don't have to stroke my ego, Vash, I know my place in things. It's one of the perks of being a priest." I smile, yawn, want to curl up and nap.
"You're not really a priest."
"No?" I crack open an eye, bunching a handful of his blankets in my fist and dragging them down to flip across me. Much better.
"Real Holy men don't shoot people."
"Symantics." Vash frowns, I knew he wouldn't believe me, but I don't really want to talk about it. "So what keeps an angel like you awake at night?"
There he goes again, stiff, closed off. He sits back away from me, up against his pillows. I'm the ass this time; though I still don't know why.
It takes what little is left of my energy reserves to sit up and pin him there so he won't run. Not physically of course, a puppy could lick me at the moment. But he's withdrawing from social interaction, so I'll peg him there with it.
I lean back against the headboard, rolling my head onto my shoulder and watching him from under heavy eyelids. He's looking at me cautiously, probably thinking of ways to escape. "If I stop calling you angel, will you drop the priest thing?"
He seems to mull it over. The tension slowly fades from his face and frame. Good. I slide bonelessly down the headboard and onto the mattress, moaning in appreciation. I hear him stifle a short laugh and crane my neck to look at his face instead of his knees. "I'll get up in a minute," I promise. As soon as I retain enough energy to stand.
He unfolds himself from the corner of the bed and easily shifts across me and onto the floor. I'm not looking forward to another piggyback. Surprisingly he straightens his blankets and pulls them up high to cover my chest. I give him a questioning look but he only smiles.
He turns from the bed and starts toward the door, only in his pajama bottoms. He's going to leave me in his rooms. He'll probably sleep in my bed. I try not to frown, this bed is much better after all.
The door is softly shut and all the light in the room is blocked out. I never realized there was no window in here. The bed dips and I nearly jump out of my skin. His voice is low and quiet again, right by my ear. "At least take the inside."
It takes several long seconds before I realize he's telling me to move over. It's a little surprising how quickly my body can gather energy for that.
He slides in soundlessly, sighing in content as he pulls the blankets back up into place. It takes me a while to relax and breathe. The bed is a bit too small for two grown men to share like this. Our shoulders, hips, one calf, all pressed together. It's not altogether uncomfortable. I close my eyes and pretend we're both here for another reason. Now I am uncomfortable.
Vash shifts and all the points of contact are gone. I nearly sigh in regret. But at least this way I feel my muscles relaxing and I nearly fall asleep. A rough, well-toned arm falls across my waist, the palm of his hand on the flat of my abdomen. The pressure across three reopened, reclosed wounds makes it really hard to sleep.
He snores softly. Cuddling in his sleep, who would have thought it from the outlaw. But he's already sleeping so he won't notice if I...
Tentatively, knowing he was going to wake up and look at me in disgust, I touch his shoulder with the tips of my fingers. His skin is warmer than I thought it would be. Angels are supposed to be cool to the touch. The scars are thick and rough, but the unchanged skin between them is soft. Even more delicate than most female flesh I've touched this way.
He hasn't noticed, his breathing is still soft and steady. It feeds my foolish courage. I reach past his shoulder, palm flat on the plane of his back. There are more scars there, but they suit him. I continue to touch, a long slow stroke as far as my arm can reach. His breath hitches and he shivers before turning further into me. His head is now on my pillow, his breath in my ear, his hip back to mine.
It's amazing how sensitive he is. I would have expected his nerves had been numbed by now. It's almost as though he's touch-starved. That makes sense. He's a drifter, and the whole world thinks he's a demon.
I treat myself to one last long touch, fingertips tripping over the great divots in his flesh and catch lightly on the metal grate. He mumbles incoherently and I know I've had my fill for the night... more likely for good. But hey, I'm not going to discount any nice dreams I might get out of this.
My arm retreats back to where it belongs, but I can't help curling it below his arm. I try to fool myself by thinking I might hold him in place by doing so. Oh well. I may as well enjoy it while I can.
Damn my traitorous body... I fall asleep less than two minutes later.
---
I wake to shaking. Head lolling on my shoulders. I barely have the strength to open my eyes to see who is jostling me around like this. I blurrily see his face looking panicked. A-hah, maybe he's come to his senses about letting me stay with him.
He looks past his shoulder, talking loud and fast but I can't really make it out through the cotton-fuzzed haze in my ears. I'm so tired. As my eyes close again, I get shaken, harder this time. Now it's not just annoying, it hurts too. I try to ask him what the hell he's doing but no sound comes out of my open mouth.
Meryl's face comes swimming into view and I can just make out Millie standing over her. They both look awfully worried about something. Well hell, if I walked in on Vash shaking the hell out of one of them I would probably be worried too. But they aren't mad, and they aren't looking at him.
I've crossed the line this time I guess. Maybe I should apologize?
"Priest!" His voice finally strikes through the fog and I blink up at him. He's panicking... what the hell is wrong with me now?
I can't help it, no amount of shaking is going to keep me awake. Sucking darkness is pulling my mind back into a lull of dreamless sleep. It feels too good to ignore. I can vaguely feel him shaking me harder as my eyes close, but I know nothing else after a short moment.
---
My body is pins and needles when I come to again. It's some time between daylight and night, dawn or dusk. I've never been this thirsty in my life. After a slow turn of the head, my sight falls on a hunched figure in a chair. It looks like Meryl if the size is any indicator.
"Ungh," how elegant and prophetic that was. I swallow hard to try again, but I guess a noncommital grunt was enough. Meryl snaps awake and is by the bedside in two quick steps.
"Mr. Priest, how are you feeling?" Her blue eyes are tired, but also worried.
I shrug noncommitally, my throat is still too dry to speak. She seems to know in that way nurses do and rushes to the table across the room and back with a glass of water. A sloppy, wet moment later my throat is satisfied and I've managed to soak my uppermost bandages.
"You gave us all quite a scare," she says quietly. It must be dawn then, everyone else is sleeping.
"Sorry," I croak offering her a wavering smile.
She shakes her head and laughs to herself. "You had a really bad fever a few days ago, we thought you were going to die." When she meets my gaze her eyes are watery and her lower lip is bit tight between her teeth. I lift one arm in silent offer and she balls up on my chest and cries. Who would have thought it from Meryl?
Still conscious of my aches--which actually feel far less now, I wonder how long I've been out--I pat her back and try to soothe her with my scratchy voice. She keeps bawling, and now I have the sneaking suspicion that my sickness was not her only catalyst.
"Where's Vash?"
Her sobs pause and she looks up at me in shock. Her face crumples and it's surprising to see that she doesn't break down again. "He's gone."
"Gone..." That's not entirely unexpected. It still feels like a sucker-punch to the gut either way. "Where?"
"A city over... he asked me to stay. We didn't really have a choice, I think he used your being hurt as a cover so he could go alone." She looks fleetingly angry, but soon sobers up again.
I struggle up, swinging my feet to the floor and waver. I clutch the headboard for support and then let it go, walking to where I can see my clothes folded neatly on the table. Meryl doesn't try to stop me, she's a clever one. It's still a little much to bend to pull on my pants, I get dizzy and have to sit down for a moment. She still doesn't say anything.
Before long I have my shirt tugged on but not done up. It would be too snug across my bandages. I even have a go at picking up my crucifix and manage to shoulder it after using both arms and sweating bullets.
Meryl is looking at me with a hard, calculating gaze.
"Let's go," I tell her, already walking toward the door. "Go get Millie, we have to catch him."
---
The city is pretty much deserted when we get there. Shutters are broken and there is no glass left in any of the windows. It's taken us two days to get here, it's my fault.
Millie is carrying my crucifix. It's slung across her shoulder like a light-weight satchel. I wish I could do that again. I'm too exhausted to even push it over if it were standing. She catches my intent gaze and smiles. I smile back, open mouthed so I can keep panting.
That's it... no farther.
"Go on," I gasp, resting my back against a nearby wall. My knees turn to jelly and I'm sliding down it before I have the chance to lock them. Millie lets out an 'oh' of surprise, but I wave her off when she bends to help me up. I turn my gaze to Meryl, she'll listen to reason. "Find him, this is far as I go."
Her lips tighten and she give me a curt nod. "Come on Millie, we need to find Vash before he gets himself into trouble."
"Uh..." the large woman gives me a worried look and set the cross beside me with a thud. "Coming Meryl!" She calls to the woman. Millie looks back down at me with another wide smile, "I'll leave this with you, okay, Mr. Priest? You might need it!"
I thank her and pat it with one hand. She jogs off to catch up, swinging the gigantic gun out from underneath her duster.
I can't believe I'm still this sick. The canteen on my side is half full. I take two heavy swallows and clench my teeth as my stomach riots even that. I refuse to let it back out the way it went in, and after an unsettling minute my stomach accepts it without another twinge.
My limbs are heavy and dead, I'm exhausted and I haven't been this pissed off in years. I'm worried about the girls, worried about myself, worried about Vash... Maybe I didn't die and go to Hell because this damned dustball planet IS Hell.
A shrill scream brings gooseflesh rising out of my skin. I struggle to my feet and turn to stare up into the setting sun. I can see the women being surrounded by men. Men with torches, pitchforks and rifles.
The cloth around the cross rumples to the ground easily. The short sides snap open and I pull out four pistols, one for each hip and each hand. I start my way to the cliffside, barely hearing the cries of Meyrl and Millie over my own labored breathing.
By the time I bank the hill, my sides are in stitches and my lungs are on fire; I barely have the strength to raise the pistols in my hands. One hard, resounding shot makes it through to my ears and I blink in surprise to see the men huddled around the girls back away in confusion.
When they finally shift away, I see Vash standing with a pistol in his hand. He's standing over Legato's body, the barrel still smoking in the nearing dark.
Millie's solid arm is wrapped around my waist before I notice her there. I'm thankful for the support and lean heavily onto her, she takes it with little complaint. I can see Meryl nearing Vash. Before she can touch him, he slumps to his knees and crumples to the ground in a heap. For a moment I think he's passed out or dead, but I can see his shoulders shaking.
"Come on, Mr. Priest," Millie says quietly, her voice is laced with sadness. She turns me against my will and drags me down the hill. We return to where I've left my crucifix, unattended. Without being asked, she returns each pistol to it's chamber and snaps the contraption shut, even wrapping it again.
We sit in silence against the wall. Millie has a few scrapes across her face and a bruise forming underneath one of her eyes, I feel guilty that I couldn't have prevented it. She smiles at me again, touching the swelling with the tips of two fingers as though she knew what I was thinking about.
An eternity passes before Meryl arrives, she is pale and withdrawn. Behind her, dragging his feet through the earth and staring vacantly ahead is Vash. He's bleeding badly, his jacket is in tatters around him.
Without a word passing between them, both women get us moving toward the city gates. We walk for the majority of the night, finally coming to a small, pleasant town. The people are polite and uninquisitive about our states, even for such an ackward time of the night. We're given lodging and fall into bed as the first dawn sun breaches the horizon.
---
For the first time in days, I wake the next morning instead of days later. My body is pleasantly achy instead of full of dull pain. I'm able to get myself out of bed and to the bathroom. I haven't had a standing shower in nearly two months. Between Millie and Meryl, I've been sponged down two or so times a week at least. It will be euphoric to wash myself for a change.
It was better than I hoped. It was nearly orgasmic. The warm water rolled down the fresh scars across my body, even a scattered handful of old ones. I touched several of the pink pock marks and sighed. Oh well, I never was much to look at.
There were still one or two stitches left intact. They needed to be clipped and removed. Maybe I could get Millie to help. My happy bubble was popped when Meryl began to beat on the bathroom door.
Reluctant to leave, I shut off the water and wrapped a towel around my waist. Meryl barely registered my existance as I walked out. Her eyes were glassy from sleep as she pushed past.
Vash's door was open a crack. I couldn't help pushing it open to check on him. The entire trek he hadn't spoken a word. He was bound in fresh bandages and sleeping on his back. Maybe that's why Meryl was so exhausted. She must have patched him up after I fell asleep.
Millie was yawning at the small circular table when I found her. She waved and chirruped good morning.
"Would you mind helping me with this?" I asked, plucking at the strings across two of the patched bullet wounds I could reach.
"Sure!"
Millie plucked a knife from the table and snapped the strings evenly with deft flicks of her wrists. The strings were pulled free with a small tickle.
"All done!" Millie returned to her chair, yawning again.
"Thanks," I mumble, fingering the fresh skin. My suit fits like a dream. I haven't been fully dressed in a while. It helps me wake entirely. I think I should find somewhere to practice my aim. I haven't shot a weapon for a while, I don't want to lose my edge.
---
I spent most of the day watching the small town people bustle back and forth. I've managed to gain back a bit of my strength and have made a silent promise to drag that damned crucifix everywhere even though I don't feel threatened here.
Millie has found work mining for water in the center of town. I've never been much of a laborer, though after attempting to talk the women into letting me hustle and getting thoroughly chewed out, I was 'excused' from finding work in lieu of sitting still and keeping quiet.
Meryl has been keeping a constant vigil over Vash's bedside. To say I'm jealous wouldn't be totally off the mark. He's yet to wake, I can tell by the tired lines around Meryl's eyes and mouth.
Nightfall brings Millie home, dirtied and beaming. She's one of the most eccentric people I've ever met. Her bubbling during dinner keeps the blues away for a while. After a time she has finished and excuses herself for a bath, leaving Meryl and myself. Meryl disappears into Vash's room again and I'm by myself... alone. History has an evil way of repeating itself.
I sit in my room for much of the night, smoking cigarettes like they're going out of style. I could have quit after going so long without them, but I've never been a quitter. The suns set and the moons rise. I finally hear Meryl retreat from Vash's room and tiptoe to the room she shares with Millie. Even at the distance I can hear the larger woman mumbling in her sleep. I can't help a grin.
I light up again and lay back onto the pillows. My jacket and shirt have been tossed carelessly across the foot of the bed. It's a mild night, but the heat of the day still clings to me. All that my eyes can see is the cherry end of the cigarette. My free hand is busy touching the pockmarks of my chest and abdomen.
I hear Meryl tiptoeing back to Vash's room and I take a deep drag and hold it burning in my chest. She's talking quietly so I stand and press my ear to the door. Vash must be awake. My stomach clenches and my lungs demand air. I nearly choke out the smoke and suck in several fresh lungfuls before taking another puff.
A wail of remorse shakes the windows. I clench my eyes shut and rest my forehead against the doorjamb. Oh, Vash, weeping for the damned again.
The door is shut across the hall and I barely suppress the urge to swing mine open and yell at Meryl for leaving him alone to deal with that anguish. I hear her retreat to her rooms, this time not bothering to hide her footsteps.
When her door shuts I open mine. The loud cries have died to whimpers and wracking sobs. My own chest hurts to hear them.
His door opens easily under my hand. He doesn't bother attempting to quail his cries this time, I don't even think he knows I'm here. He's curled on himself again, knees tight to his chest and fists buried in his hair. I push his door shut and cross the room in a few quick strides.
He notices me now, looking up with a tear streaked face.
Hesitating, I reach out to touch his shoulder but he recoils as though I would strike him. "Don't." He hiccoughs, eyes wide as saucers and staring hard at my face.
I've never done what I've been told without being beaten for it first. He says 'do not', therefore I must.
I bypass the calming gesture and scowl as I grab tightly a hold of his upper arms. His eyes are wide and wet when I haul him toward me, but he only resists at first. I tug him to my chest and hug him tightly. He struggles for a minute, gasping in pain. I loosen my grip but don't let him slip away. Instead I shuffle backward until my back rests against the wall, all the while dragging him with me. Finally, he relents and leans heavily into me, shivering.
"Go ahead, Vash the Stampede," I say softly. He shivers harder when I speak his name.
"Go ahead and what?" He asks thickly, voice fogged with tears.
Tentatively I touch his hair like I would with a crying woman and massage the back of his skull. He lets out a sad mewl and buries his head beneath my chin. I'm surprised but not displeased with the effect. "Go ahead and cry."
He stiffens again, but after a short moment, he melts into tears again, sobbing softly against my chest. It's easier to listen to when I have a hold of him. Unconsciously I began to stroke his back, staring at the door over his head and make soft cooing noises as he weeps. My fingers catch lightly on the grate and dip into the multitude of scars.
Time passes slow and I don't remember when he stopped crying, only laying limp and worn out against me.
"I dreamt of this once," he whispers like a child in the dark.
"What's that?" I whisper back, unable to break his childlike innocence by speaking aloud.
"Being pet," he said just as quietly. It was only then that I realized I was still stroking his back.
I felt myself flush, the skin of my face hot in the cooler air. "When was that?"
"A couple weeks ago," he answered quickly. With a cough, he turned his face out of my chest. For a moment I thought he would back away and retreat to the other side of the bed. My hand stopped, hovering over his shoulder blade waiting to see if he would.
Now that he had calmed, our proximity was a little unnecessary. I still didn't want him to move.
My cigarette had long since burned out, the butt hanging uselessly on my lips. I spat it off the end of the bed. My fears come true, Vash sits up and away from me, wiping his cheeks with the backs of his hands even though his tears had dried some time ago.
"Why are you mourning Legato?"
The question even came as a surprise to me even though it fell from my lips. Vash's pliant demeanor changed quickly. His back tightened and he was suddenly at the far end of the bed, curled tightly into himself to stay as far from me as possible.
"He's a human, I had no right to chose if he lived or died." Vash was vehement.
"Legato was not human," I shook my head. His blue-green gaze was harsh, the air had dropped another ten degrees. "He was a demon who had no right to choose the life or death of those he killed."
"That still doesn't give me the right to choose," Vash bit out. I could tell he was trying not to yell or slap me.
"Sometimes you have to choose," I said softly. I scooted off of the edge of his bed and stood. The bare floor was cool under my feet. I turned to look back at him in the doorway. He had to understand... "There are things on this planet worse than death."
He opened his mouth, lips set in cruel lines, but he bit his tongue when he finally looked at me. I don't know what he saw on my face, but his mouth clacked shut and his eyes softened. In my mind all I could see was the girth of my uncle, sweaty and reeking of alcohol. With a shudder and distant glare I left, shutting his door solidly behind me.
I stood in the hallway shaking. I smelled that fat man's stench and felt his meaty hands on my flesh. I barely made it to the bathroom in time to retch.
---