I'm still angry with him in the morning. My self-righteousness is more founded than his. Vash even exits his room for short periods of time. He's a tough nut, even with a few bullet holes. I'm a little jealous of his ability to deal with the pain.

When I finally get the nerve to leave my room he's taken the only chair on the porch. He doesn't look at me as I walk past him. I would have preferred to sit in the shade and watch the day away, but he can have it. I need some alcohol anyway.

The bar is relatively empty. Most of those able bodied men of the town are down in the well attempting to find water. I don't mind the partial solitude. I still get curious looks, but most everyone has seen me already even if they haven't spoken to me yet.

I'm half way through the cheapest bottle of whisky they have when I'm joined at the small table. I don't look up for a long moment, I don't really care who it is and would just assume they leave. By the time I sip my glass dry, they still haven't left and I take the cue to see who wants to talk to me now.

A plain faced kid is sitting beside me, watching me with a small smile. I say kid in relation to my jaded age and his innocent youthful face. He was surely no older than twenty, but certainly old enough to buy his own drinks at the bar.

"Hi," he speaks in a soft voice, oddly much deeper than I would have expected. I give him a distracted nod as I refill my glass. He isn't quite as put off as I was hoping. He scoots his chair closer to the table and steals a stale pretzel from the bowl in front of me. "You must be the Priest."

I raise an eyebrow and pause with the glass half-way to my lips. "Excuse me?"

He smiles the same little smile and breaks the pretzel in his fingers. "Millie speaks of you after work. You're a stranger here, and you fit her description, so you must be the Priest."

"Millie," I laugh softly to myself and take another sip of drink. "Yeah, I'm the Priest."

He nods, eating a piece of his broken snack and cocks his head to the side as he looks at me. I'm starting to get paranoid and begin to rethink my decision to leave my cross in our make-shift home. "Well, Priest, it's a pleasure to finally see you in person." He pops another piece of pretzel into his mouth and mumbles, "Pity."

"What's a pity?" I ask a little roughly. He looks surprised and blushes a little. He's definitely too innocent to sit with me.

The blush fades and his thin-lipped smile grows until it nearly looks like a leer. I'm so surprised that I drop the lit cigarette into my lap. I retrieve it quickly, swearing, and pat out the embers before they burn a hole into my pants. When I manage to look back up to his face, his eyes are still staring at my lap where my left hand is rubbing out the ashes. I return it to the table, but his eyes stay where they are.

With a snort, I think I finally understand. I lean into his space until he can breathe the alcohol on my breath and share my cigarette. His eyes widen, they're a nice shade of green, not as nice as Vash's, but they'll do.

"What's a pity?" I repeat again, a low, husky whisper.

"That you're a priest," he says easily.

"What if I told you I wasn't a real man of the cloth?" It's honest to say I'm intrigued. It has been some time since I've bedded anyone. Even longer since I've had a fresh-faced young man practically climbing into my lap.

His eyes narrow, but there's a familiar sparkle in them. "Well, that changes everything." His voice has more bass, it's effective in a way his plain looks are not. I have to shift in my seat.

"Do you have any sins you want to confess?" I smirk as I flick my cigarette butt out a nearby window.

"Oh, yes," he hisses, taking my glass out of my hand and drinking the remains in a hard gulp.

"Then let's find somewhere private where you can hit your knees...and beg for forgiveness."

He stands before I do, holding the door open for me. I grin, slinging my arm across his shoulders. I steer him toward the house, even from the distance I can tell that Vash has gone, the porch is empty. Perfect.

I don't think I managed to shut the door to my room before he's peeled my jacket off and nearly unbuttoned my shirt. My alcohol hazed brain clears brilliantly for a second as I look down and see the fresh pink scars across my torso. It's broad daylight, he's sure to notice.

He does, though not in the way I had expected. His fingers trail across them in awe, the fingertips cold as ice. I kiss him hard, thankful that he doesn't say a word about them.

When his knees hit the bed, he's already wriggling out of his pants with one hand, the other is buried in my loose shirt collar.

It's rough and frantic. Pants around my ankles and shirt tails waving. It takes copious amounts of saliva and more work than I remember. But Hell, it was fantastic. When he bites his knuckles as he climaxes, his eyes flash a familiar shade of blue-green and I'm screaming with him. Spent, sticky and sated, we share a last languid, wet kiss before he rolls out from under me and pulls his clothes back on.

I'm buckling my pants as I walk him out and come to a jerking halt as Vash comes in. He looks surprised, his lips in an 'o'. The kid walks past him, nodding hello, and leaves without a word. I could have kissed him again just for the courtesy.

Vash is still staring at me, my hands are frozen on my belt buckle, shirt still undone and hanging from my shoulders. I know I must look flushed, there's no doubt about what I've been up to. His face suddenly shutters and he walks past me to his room. The door to his room shuts with a soft click and it makes me wince and hurt more than a solid slam would have.

---

As the alcohol of the morning fades, I'm left feeling queasy and aching. Vash hasn't come from his room. I know, because I've been sitting on my bed with the door wide open. I can see his shut tightly across the hall.

Meryl has gone in with lunch, and again with dinner. She's come back out again with the same food she went in with both times. She looks worried and has a soft-toned conversation with Millie when the other comes home from work.

I don't even turn on a light when the suns finally set. I don't think I've moved either.

Millie walks by on her way to bed a few hours later and back-pedals to peek in. "Hello, Mr. Priest!" I grunt, her voice is too loud. She smiles but doesn't come in. "Joshua was happy tonight. He's been dying to meet you, I guess he must have, huh?"

"Who?" My head hurts, I don't need questions.

"Joshua," Millie looks perplexed, "I told him about you when you were still feeling ill. He asks me about you every night. Except tonight. He just smiled when I mentioned you."

Joshua... hell I hadn't even gotten that kid's name before I fucked him. I wince and nod to appease Millie's curiosity. "Yea, I met him this morning."

"Oh, good! He's an awful nice boy." She chirrups. "Good night!"

"Night," I mumble, feeling even worse than five minutes ago. Vash has every reason to be disgusted with me.

It isn't long before the whole house is asleep. I'm still sitting on my bed, not knowing exactly what it is that I wish would happen. Vash hasn't come asking questions, Meryl looks curious, so he mustn't have told her. In a way I'm grateful. I don't need a sermon.

Aw, hell. I stand, rubbing feeling back into my legs as I walk slowly to the bathroom. Best to get some sleep. I'll have enough guilt and venom for the morning.

On my way back, I can't help checking Vash's door. It's still shut tight. I sigh heavily and shut my door, stumbling toward the bed and fall onto it. I can't quite breathe through the pillows when a low, curt voice startles me upright.

"Why?"

Vash is lucky I don't sleep with a pistol beneath my pillows. I finally see him in the half moonlight leaning against the wall beside the door.

I don't want to have this conversation. "Why what?"

His glasses flash in the low light. They look even more ridiculous without the red coat. He turns toward me, but doesn't step away from the wall. "Wolfwood..." His voice is low and I can just sense a bit of danger in it.

I sigh heavily, feeling a little angry myself. "Because I wanted to."

Apparently, it isn't a satisfying answer. He walks stiffly toward me and stares down, his hands are balled up into fists. The linen wrapped around his torso is stained and I blink in surprise. He's torn some stitches.

"Is that all you want? Nameless, stringless..." he sputters out, sounding a little indignant, and a bit out of breath. I'm having serious concerns about his health.

"No," I admit softly, wishing like hell he wasn't wearing those god-damned glasses.

"Then wha--"

"It's because I can't have what I want," I interrupt him. I fumble for a cigarette but the pack is empty. It makes an unsatisfying whap as it hits the far wall where I've thrown it.

His laboured breathing stills, his fists have uncurled. "What do you want?"

There is true curiosity in the question and I feel like weeping. "I--it doesn't matter. I can't have it."

Vash is quiet, so am I. He doesn't know the depth of my admission. I watch in horror as he suddenly collapses. It's my turn to shake him by the shoulders. "Vash? Vash!"

"Wolfwood..." He groans out. I pick him up as much as I can and roll him ungracefully onto my bed. His stains have spread.

I have my shirt balled up and pressed to it before I realize I've taken it off. He grunts at the pressure. "What did you do, Vash?" I ask him. "What did you do?"

---

He fell asleep there...maybe just fell unconscious. I'm not sure which it is. I've been sitting staring at him for nearly an hour. I probably should have woken the women but the bleeding appears to have stopped. I don't know what I'll do now, that was my only shirt.

I took those foolish lenses from his face and set them on the windowsill. Maybe I can 'accidentally' loose them before the morning.

Vash grumbles, rolling his head. I'm standing over him like a mother hen in seconds. "Vash?" I whisper, hoping he'll wake up.

"'ck?" He swallows and struggles to open his eyes. When they finally manage to, I collapse beside him in a relieved heap.

He's struggling to move but I've pinned down one of his arms and right at this moment I don't care. He ceases after a moment and rolls toward me instead. "Are you okay?"

I nearly laugh, "Yes. Are you okay?"

"I've been better," he quips and I can almost see the cheeky grin on his face through the pillow. How he can go from being unbelievably pissed at me to making stupid jokes is beyond my realm of knowledge.

I turn my head to look at him. He looks exhausted but not dying. "Thank God," I mumble to myself. He looks at me oddly, but I'm still too relieved to care. I bury my face into the pillow.

"Wolfwood?" I grunt into the pillow. "Can I have my arm back?"

I laugh and say an emphatic "No." into the pillow. It's muffled badly but he understands.

He laughs too, obviously not worried about the appendage since he doesn't tug and I don't move.

It gets quiet and I feel myself falling to sleep, but he speaks quietly and ruins it.

"What is you want but can't have?"

I stiffen beside him before I can stop myself. He rolls a little closer, I can feel his breath on my ear.

"How do you know you can't have it?"

His voice is so innocent, completely clueless. I think I really will weep. Maybe it's time to let him see, but he has to work it out himself. I lift a little, allowing his arm free before I answer. Even though he reclaims his arm, he hasn't moved away.

"Because no one can have an angel," I say to the doorway, unable to look at him when I say it.

Vash is very quiet. I can barely hear him breathe. My only hope is that he still hasn't shifted away from me. "Then," he pauses in thought, speaking in whispers, "it's lucky for you that there are no angels."

I'm a little frustrated, a little angry, mostly hurt. I expected no less. It's far more a gentle let down than I was expecting. I sit up and wipe a hand down my face. So be it.

I stand and open the door, turning back to the bed to see Vash's silhouette in the dark. It's just as well I can't see his face.

"Come on, Vash, I'll help you to bed." If my place is to be his friend, then a friend is what I'll be.

He doesn't try to sit up when I get back to the bedside. He's staring up at the ceiling with vacant eyes.

"Vash?"

"Is that all you want? An angel?" His voice is lilting, mesmerizing. I shake my head no, but he can't see it. He rolls his head toward me, a sad smile on his face. "What would you do if you had one?"

"I'm not sure," I step forward uneasily. "Whatever I could."

He seems oddly pleased with the answer, the corners of his eyes wrinkling as he smiles. I offer him a hand up and he takes it. I pull him up until he sits, only wincing a bit as his stitches pull tight. My bloody shirt falls to the floor. His eyes widen and he picks it up, shaking it open and looking forlornly at it.

"Nicholas... your shirt..." Vash drops it back to the floor and stands up, his face and tone are apologetic. He rests a hand on my shoulder, in a nice, brotherly fashion. My stomach drops in defeat.

His hand swings around until his arm is across my shoulders. He resets some of his weight on me and I walk him slowly to the door and across the hall. I remember vaguely asking God to allow me time on earth to stay with them... not being allowed to have him must be my penance.

By the time Vash is at his bedside, his legs are weaker and he's breathing heavier. He really needs to stay in bed for a couple of days. I bend uncomfortably to the side to lower him down onto the bed, but he doesn't take his arm away. I look up at him in question and get caught in those strangely blue-green eyes.

"Vash?" I say softly, unwilling to break his gaze.

"I..." He pauses, smiling a little so one side of his mouth curves up. His eyes have a far away, dreamy look. They come back into focus and the arm around my neck tightens marginally. I've probably just imagined it. "If you can't have an angel, would you settle for something less?"

"I don't know," I mumble, grinning to ease my tension. "Depends on who it is."

"Oh," His eyes loose a little shine.

Fuck it. I unswing his arm and help him ease back onto his bed, tugging his sheet up from the foot. He looks upset... good. When the sheet reaches his chin I let it go but still hover bent across the bed. He isn't looking at me, his eyes are closed.

"When you decide on what you are, Vash, let me know." Before I can lose what little nerve I have I press a kiss to his temple and leave. It's even harder to sleep now.

---

When I wake up in the morning, it's only after a fitful night of tossing and turning. The suns are up, I may as well be. His glasses are still sitting on the windowsill. I grin as I pick them up, perhaps I will return them to him.

Trepidation slows my feet as I cross the hall. Meryl is at the table with Millie, they spare me a curious glance as I push open Vash's door. He's asleep on his back. He should sleep all day, and the next. Maybe then he'll be able to move about more without tearing his stitches.

I set his glasses down on the small table beside his bed. As I turn away to retreat his arm snaps out and his hand latches onto my wrist. I hate how quiet he is. I stare down at him, unnerved since his eyes are still closed and his breathing is still even and shallow.

"Where's Meryl," he asks softly. His voice isn't sleep laden.

"At the table with Millie," I answer equally as quiet. I don't know what he's playing at... maybe he wants me to get her.

One eye cracks open and it rolls up to look at me. "You don't have a shirt on," he mumbles with a lopsided grin.

"I can't help that," I grin back. We both know why.

He suddenly frowns and the grip on my wrist tightens. "I'm sorry about last night," he whispers. It's in the same boyish, innocent voice from days past when he was still crying over Legato.

"It's okay," I regretfully admit. He had more right to be disgusted with me than I had a right to be indignant.

"No," he lets go and closes his eyes again. "I shouldn't have pried, it isn't any of my business."

I'm irritated at his runaround. If he wants to be angry with me, fine; if he wants to ignore me, fine; I can't take the back and forth. I'm starting to get nauseous from the motion.

I'll give him a reason to stop dancing. I realize with sudden clarity that I've been doing much the same. I can't play needy at night and distant during the day. Maybe he's been waiting for me to make up my own mind... he has just that type of irritating personality.

I touch his face with my fingertips, just four points of contact along his cheekbone. His eyes flutter, but don't open. "Go back to sleep, Vash," I growl out through a suddenly hoarse voice. "You're still weak."

The smallest of smiles curls his lips. "Okay."

Meryl pauses in the doorway, I can see her in my peripheral vision. A flush of unease flows through me. Whether I'm worried about how I look, touching Vash so blatantly; or is it worry for how Vash would feel knowing others could see? I don't dare move, and I'm afraid to stay that way.

A moment of blind panic grips me and washes out in a matter of seconds. "I'll be on the porch if you need anything," I tell him, flicking my thumb across his cheek before retreating.

Meryl is still staring at my back as I turn down the hall. For some reason, I can't help but smile as I sit in the sunlight.

---

Millie is back to work; Meryl has been fussing about the house and Vash for most of the morning.

He hasn't gotten up today, he's been a good boy. Not that it's hard for him. Despite his skill as a killer, he doesn't have a killer's heart.

The door opens behind me, I give it a cursory glance and see that it's Meryl. The small woman sighs heavily as she leans beside the chair I'm sitting in. After a moment, she sighs again. I grin, she's trying to get my attention.

"How is he?"

"He won't eat," She explodes suddenly, as though that was what she had been waiting for. "He picks, moves it about, but he won't eat anything."

That's cause for concern. I know the man hadn't eaten the day before, I watched Meryl come and go with trays of food untouched. The idiot won't heal if he won't eat.

"You're sure?"

"Yes!" Meryl lets out a huff and slides down the wall until she's sitting on the rough wooden planks of the porch. "I've tried everything."

"Have you used your feminine wiles?" I wiggle my eyebrows in a suggestive way and she slaps at me even as she stifles a smile.

"Of course not."

"Maybe that's where you went wrong," I smirk and squint into the sunlight.

She's quiet for a length of time, so long I've forgotten she's there in my drowsy state until she speaks again.

"Would you try?" Meryl stands and steps in front of me, blocking the sun and pouting. "At least once, just try. He needs to eat."

I pretend to be annoyed as I agree. I even manage a suffering sigh as I stand and clomp back into the house. Meryl has taken my chair when I peak through the window. She's got her head in her hands and I stop smirking. She's very worried. I should be more serious.

The tray on the table is still steaming. I take it up and do my best not to spill anything on my way down the hall. Vash's door is ajar, which I am grateful for. I've already slopped some water onto his bread.

His eyes are closed even though he's still on his back. He doesn't seem to have moved at all. I set the tray on a small table and walk up to the bedside.

"I'm not hungry, Meryl," he mumbles sleepily, eyes still closed.

I grin and take up a bowl of some slop or another. It's probably oatmeal. When I sit down on the bed he groans pitifully. No doubt it works wonders on Meryl.

"Stop whining," I demand, stirring the bowl and take out a large spoonful.

His eyes open slowly but there is still a bit of surprise on his face. "Wolfwood?"

"You've driven the women out, they've called in reinforcements." I grin as he rolls his eyes. "Open up." I push the spoon at him and he swats it away.

"I can feed myself."

I help him sit up, mostly against his will, and shove the bowl in his hands. "Then eat."

He stirs it as I had done, but doesn't eat. I watch him in silence. He's lost color, too pale and drawn. I hadn't noticed until now.

It's been five minutes, he still hasn't taken a bite. He's even put the spoon down.

"Vash," I frown as he looks up at me with a blank expression. "You need to eat."

"I have no appetite," He simpers, reaching to set the bowl back on the tray. His arm shakes with fatigue and the bowl falls from his fingers. I barely manage to catch it before it hits the floor. I've got oatmeal up my arm and spatters on my face.

He's surprised, trying not to laugh and fighting off a bit of mortification. He's too weak to hold up a bowl.

I wipe the stickiness off without a word. The longer I'm in his company, the more worried I'm getting for his health. I sit down on the bed again, reaching for his knee. I've miscalculated; my hand is on his thigh but I don't want to cheapen my concern by moving it. He stares at me, then my hand.

"You haven't eaten in over a day."

"I've gone longer," he mumbles, the muscle under my touch is hard as a rock from tension.

"You're hurt," I say sternly, fingers flexing involuntarily. At least he finally looks away and back up at me. "You'll waste away into nothing."

I snatch a corner of dry toast from a plate and take a vicious bite out of it. As I chew I shove it toward him, nearly pushing it into his mouth myself. He takes it gingerly, eyes cool as he watches me chew and finally takes a small bite. It isn't nearly enough but it's a start.

I lick the crumbs from my fingers as he eats the rest slowly. He watches as I do and prickles run up my spine. The last bit of crust is pushed past his lips, idly it seems since he's still staring at me with curious eyes.

Heart pounding hard I hold out my hand to him. Curious and compliant he offers his over. I raise it to my lips and glance up at him. His eyes are wide, he's stopped chewing and the fingers I'm holding twitch. He's staring at his fingers like I'll bite them off.

The crumbs come free, tasting far better than the ones from my own fingertips. I try not to linger, do as I wanted and set him free. His hand curls into a loose fist and he sets it gently in his lap.

"Eat more, Vash," I croak. I stand up away from him, unable to look him in the eye and leave the room.

Out of his sight I slap myself in the forehead. I don't know what I was thinking exactly. It was more of an impulse and I hope he doesn't shy away from me when I see him again. It was stupid of Meryl to ask me. I can't stay in the hall forever though.

I hold my breath as I push the door open. I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't the sight that greeted me. Vash was bent over the tray of food, picking at what lay there and eating select pieces easily.

He must have seen me in the corner of his eye, or heard the door, because he looks up at me and smiles.

For a moment I'm flabbergasted, then as I recognize a glint in his blue-green eyes I know I've been played. He's been waiting for me to come, starving himself and fuming. He's worse at manipulation than any woman I've ever met.

After gaping like a fish I stalk toward him with a scowl. He smiles brightly and opens his mouth to say something cheeky but there's nowhere for it to go once I grab him by the face and do what I've wanted for months.

His lips are pliant and damp, a bit chilled. He's raised a hand to my shoulder to push, but after a moment it just lays there, doing nothing. I drive my tongue past his teeth and abuse his a moment before sucking his lower lip and retreating. I back step, still scowling at him, and chew a bit of apple I've managed to retrieve from his mouth.

Vash is gaping, eyes half-lidded and a touch of pink to his cheeks. I'm tempted to do it again, but I leave him to his meal.

Meryl looks surprised to see me. "How did it go?"

"He's eating," I tell her idly, sitting in the chair she's just vacated.

"Really?" She has an odd combination of elation and sadness. "He ate for you?"

"Yup," I take a cigarette from the pack I left by the chair and take a deep drag from it. It's not quite as good as Vash's apple-sugared mouth.

"Good," She mumbles touching my shoulder as she makes her way back inside.

---