Title: That Sweet Cigarette

Author: Digimon Empress Yaten (de yaten)

Notes: Wolfwood/Midvalley, Wolfwood/Vash implied, Legato/Midvalley implied and mentioned. It came out a big darker, and much longer, than I originally intended but I'm pretty satisfied with it.

Disclaimer: I don't own Trigun or its characters.

The two men were sitting on the edge of a cliff, watching the suns set, although neither was really paying attention to the picturesque skyline in front of them.

"We said we weren't going to get each other anything, Middie." A cigarette lay precariously at the edge of his mouth, almost burnt to his lips, and his sand-worn hands pushed against the small box presented to him.

"Yeah, I know." Midvalley dropped the present in Wolfwood's lap, and turned to watch the suns setting.

"Hey."

Midvalley turned, and chuckled softly when he saw the priest holding a plain giftbox in his hand.

"We said we weren't going to get each other anything, Wolfy."

"Yeah, I know." A pause. "And don't ever call me Wolfyagain."

Another chuckle. "Duly noted. So," the brunette took the box, "should we open them at the same time or what?"

Wolfwood shrugged. "Might as well."

At the count of three, both men opened their respective gifts. They stayed silent for a while, before Wolfwood tossed aside what was left of his cigarette and lit one of the vintage-Marlboro's that Midvalley gave him.

"You're not going to smoke all of them in one night, are you?" A joking smile.

"Naw," Wolfwood said, taking a long drag. "I figure they'll last longer if I only smoke these when we can get together."

Calloused hands fingered the gifted antique glass mouthpiece."It seems like that's less and less these days."

"Most of the Guns are dead." A matter-of-fact statement that neither of them dwelled on.

"And you're almost always with Vash." A thinly veiled jealous remark – jealous, because Midvalley saw the Wanted posters and Wolfwood said, once, that he had a thing for blondes. "Have you been with him since last time?"

"Yes." A punch, a punch returned, and they were scuffling on the harsh rock ground on top of sand and dirt and a discarded, burning cigarette.

Dramatic, but there were fewer and fewer things to be dramatic about when the other Guns were gone and you were simply waiting for your suicide order to be issued.

Wolfwood rubbed at a darkening black eye and tried to look casual. "It's not any different than you and Bluesummers, is it?"

Midvalley nursed a similar wound and grimaced. "When he fucks me, I'm thinking about you. Can you honestly say the same thing about you and Vash?"

"I guess not."

Wolfwood stands and begins walking away, but only makes it a few steps before he's yanked backwards by rough hands and thrown down on his back. Midvalley bites and kisses harshly, and Wolfwood returns them twofold because by now, it's all part of the routine. (Meet, talk of death, of Vash and Legato, fight, walk away, and some way or another, end up sweaty and smelling like sex and cigarettes.)

The saxophone player licks his lips and pulls away. "You taste like cigarettes."

Wolfwood grins, despite the throbbing of his eye. "Thanks."

They kiss again, and don't speak for the rest of the night, because it might be their last and they would've hated for their last words to be anything more or less poetic.

Midvalley learns of Wolfwood's death while entangled in silk sheets and sprawled on his stomach with the numberless leader taking him roughly. Legato, voice saccharine as ever, tells him they found an old Marlboro stuck in Wolfwood's mouth. Both the words and Legato's treatment hurt, but they both knew it was coming and he tries not to dwell on it.

Later, when his saxophone is crooning death songs towards Vash, he wishes he could just kill the blonde and be done with it. Knives wants him alive, but for the first time, Midvalley could care less what the Plant wanted. The only thing he could take now was his life. But Wolfwood, he knows, wouldn't have wanted Vash to be killed either. And it's only this thought that forces him to turn his weapon on himself and tumble to the ground in pieces.