26. Déjà Vash
It was odd in a way, and sad in so many others.
Through his many lifetimes and endless travels, Vash had seen so many faces… so many that now they were starting to blur together. Everyone looked like everyone else, and at the same time, everyone else looked like someone, someone he knew. Someone he had known before.
It was mostly the small things that would make him remember, drag him back, a rusted anchor stapled to his heart. But after all, when you got down to it, wasn't it always the small things?
A sight… Cheap plastic sunglasses that hide expression… Cerulean eyes clear and unclouded by the scourge of life… wisps of short, raven hair dancing in the desert wind…
A smell… The tantalizing lightness of lavender… Gun powder mixed with the swirling of cigarette smoke… Chocolate pudding and fresh air…
A sound… The stop and go clicking of a typewriter used in earnest… The roar of a motorcycle tearing a line of dust through the desert… The infectious laughter of a caring and innocent heart…
A taste... The bite of tobacco and good whiskey… The comfort of hot coffee, taken black… The sweet smoothness of pudding licked straight from the cup…
A touch... The crushing affection of a wrap-both-arms-around-and-lift bear hug… The cold and smooth sheen of a gun used with the best intentions… The warmth of a body snuggled next to you without a spoken invitation…
Vash saw them everywhere, in everyone. It hurt like hell. More than a gunshot, more than a punch in the gut, more than longing, more than emptiness… but in this way, he could keep them close. In this way, he didn't have to lose them completely.
He wouldn't have it any other way.