Disclaimer in previous chapter. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

Content Warning: Tearjerk warning

-x-

"Alright."

She knew she was using her blue gown voice when Aaron's mouth curved up in a smile. It wasn't often she was browbeaten into submission, after all. The only who could do it with any degree of measurable success was Su-

She flinched at the thought, unwrapping her long arms from around her chest.

Was no one. No one but Aaron Carter, at any rate.

"Are you sure you're-"

"If you don't get some intel, you're going to drive yourself insane," he interrupted in a hoarse rumble from the floor. "If Knives wanted us dead, we'd be dead." His tone indicated what he thought of that. "I am worse than useless. And they can take me for leverage whenever they want. Go."

She hated that he was right.

There was nothing saying those screams hadn't just been her imagination. He hadn't heard them. She hadn't wanted to. Meryl Stryfe had left them when Aaron had needed help. She'd known splitting up was a poor decision. Stryfe calling pathetically for help could not have made a more obvious lure, and she was loathe to take such a stupid risk. But that had been hours ago. It was late afternoon, by the look of the suns, and no noon meal had been laid out before them. No sign of their invisible caretakers.

Had her stunt last night bought them more freedom than she knew . . . ? Or were they actually busy torturing Stryfe?

Elizabeth Boulaise gave him another long, arching look, which he very stoically did not open his opens to receive, and gave the room a glare – just in case.

"I will return in half an hour. No later."

"I won't wait up."

His blasé attitude was somehow reassuring, and she set her posture for confidence and moved towards the automated door. As before, it slid open just before she would have collided with it, and she raised an elegant hand, shielding her eyes from the glare.

Nothing happened.

Not that it would have, so close to Carter. The object was to split them up, after all.

If there was an object.

She chose not to look back, in case Aaron was actually watching, and instead assessed the ground at her feet. She was skilled at tracking in sand, which was highly impressionable and didn't remain still long, and on limestone bedrock, which had exactly the opposite problem. Using something like grass, which stayed put, with its soft flesh so easy to mar, it was a tracker's dream. The last person to leave their lodgings had gone left.

The valley was large, as large as some of the crash sites she'd seen, and the walls were steep. Carter had given her a general lay of the land as he'd scouted it from the windows. They were about halfway up a gentle slope that probably ended quite high and quite sharp. He hadn't been wrong about that. The lowest parts of the valley were completely covered with dense vegetation, trees and smaller plants. Her only chance of cover.

There were structures smaller than theirs, made of the same light, smooth concrete, all across the mid plane of the valley. They weren't at uniform distances, but there did seem to be a pattern to them, the bleached bones of a bent spine that had once been strong and straight. And there was another building, much like their own but two stories.

She had never seen this much of Eden. Her exposures, as brief as they had been, had been on the inside of that two story white structure, and on some other approach up the valley that Vash preferred to the road Carter had picked out.

What had not been visible from the windows, nor any of her trips, was something she was going to call Knives' palace until she learned its proper name. The mansion was enormous. There was simply no way Knives had built it himself. It was tall and regal, the outerwork stone and brick, and the slate roof didn't appear to be indigenous rock. It was three stories aboveground and god only knew how far under them it went. It could have held eighty bedrooms.

Or eighty Plants.

There were no floating, glowing beings in the windows or the trees, nor any grass moving when it should not be, and so she decided to pretend the trail was Stryfe's. Elizabeth stuck to the parted grasses until the damage ceased, and she determined that the last person must then have moved to shorter grass. Not nearly as obvious, and it showed more wear as well. More than one person had come this way. It wasn't impossible to track, but it wouldn't be easy. Damn. The majority of the foot traffic led generally in the direction of Knives' palace, but she found it hard to believe their invisible guards stayed there. Perhaps it was the only kitchen on the grounds?

The perpetual breeze drifted by, with its thousands of whispers of leaves on leaves, and a higher pitched tone floated along with it.

Elizabeth paused, listening, but it didn't repeat. She glanced back down into the valley, and a dot of bright crimson leapt out among the greens and yellows. She ducked into the tall grass before she even thought about it. Knives gave no indication that he had seen her; she wasn't sure about his point of origin, but he was cutting a straight line for the trees.

She wasn't violating his rules by being outside. She was well within half a mile, there was no reason to be afraid.

But instinct told her to remain hidden. He was thirty yarz away, and she was silently thankful that the wind was moving from him to her, otherwise she was sure he could have smelled her. She'd half expected him to be heading to his mansion, it was the only visible building in that direction, but his purposeful strides were taking him instead deeper into the valley, where he stopped several yarz from one of the larger trees, apparently looking for something.

His sisters. The Plants really were in that forest somewhere.

For a long moment Elizabeth just watched. Knives was out, there was no reason she could not approach him. He had spoken to her civilly, even if he had allowed his manservants to toy with them. He'd always treated her like a second class citizen, and to this point she'd tolerated it. It was likely he would continue that charade as long as it entertained him.

There was no doubt in her mind he was amused by what she had done last night.

The breeze came by, brushing the grasses and giving her a perfect view of a completely still Knives. He had not moved from his spot.

And she wasn't going to figure out what he was doing from here.

Elizabeth hesitated a moment more, and, without artificial fear coursing through her veins, it made sense to keep going. She'd wanted information, after all, and she wasn't going to get it without asking. She might expect their 'entertainment directors' to use Stryfe as bait, but not Knives. He didn't have time for these sorts of games. Not if Vash was still-

There was no telling what Vash was still.

The engineer waiting patiently for the breeze to sweep through again, using the natural movements of the grasses to mask her advance. She was careful to make it look casual, as if she was merely picking her way carefully over soft and uneven ground.

The last thing she wanted was her approach to be misconstrued as an attack.

Yet he never looked up. In fact, from here it appeared as if his eyes were closed. If she had a gun, he would have been an easy target. He stood straight, his balance perfect and his body angled against the movement of the air, and simply stood.

Perhaps he was calling for his sisters using something other than his voice. In which case he already knew she was there, and simply didn't care.

The higher tone drifted towards them again. A woman's voice, soft and not terribly on key, and Elizabeth followed Knives' lidded gaze, in the direction of the forest again. That didn't sound like a Plant vocalization . . . it sounded like -

A blob of grey, under one of the largest trees. Hard to make out, with the branches waving and dancing, but definitely grey.

Stryfe.

Knives was facing Meryl Stryfe.

She was sitting under a tree singing? While Aaron was too weak to move? What the hell did the woman think she was playing at?

Had she found Millie . . . ?

Elizabeth edged closer still, almost forgetting to pick, and she realized that Meryl wasn't alone. She was singing to someone else. Pale legs and a white shirt were visible, just, in front of her. Millie Thompson was also still wearing what she'd left the New Kennedy in.

A stronger gust than the others swept higher across the valley's rim, and the whisper of leaves turned to a rush of sound. There was something more golden than green there, not as bright as sunlight on the leaves, but clearly not bark-

Elizabeth's eyes widened.

There was a Plant in the tree, just above them.

Once she saw one, it was easy to pick out more. Four or five of them were within yarz of Stryfe's position. Knives was staring, with his closed eyes, at them.

"You will surrender all weapons, including chemicals, prior to crossing the border into Eden. Once you have arrived, you may not attempt to leave. You will remain in the designated area. You will not interfere. You will not interact with any citizen of Eden."

Meryl was singing. And the Plants were listening.

She'd just broken one of Knives' rules.

Elizabeth froze again. Stryfe was likely completely oblivious. There was no way she would sit so calmly with live Plants hanging out in the tree literally over her head. Even with them appearing to be in an inactive state, without giving off energy in the visible spectrum, her exposure to Plant radiation was definitely not within government regulatory statute.

Then again, tipping her off was likely to create an explosion of its own. She glanced towards Knives again, but he had not moved a muscle.

Was he trying to control them?

The Plants were mostly hidden, as soon as the wind died down they were invisible. They had attached themselves to the trunk of the tree, probably for support, and there were far too many leaves to see them. Perhaps it was just a matter of getting Stryfe out of there before whatever Knives was trying to do worked.

Or that would simply get her involved with breaking the rules.

Meryl sang another line, and there was a curious grunt, hardy audible.

Millie Thompson was worse off than Carter. Far worse.

She was the only reason they had ever gotten off the New Kennedy alive. Any of them. Not that she expected that to mean anything to Knives, but –

But she wasn't just going to stand there and do nothing. They all owed Thompson.

Elizabeth diverted her path from Knives towards the tree, trying to make just enough noise to be noticed. Stryfe sang another line of the song.

Millie didn't respond, this time.

And Knives didn't move.

Elizabeth was within ten yarz of them both when Meryl managed to croak out the last line – and Thompson's voice joined hers.

The engineer stopped dead in her tracks. That wasn't possible. Yet Millie's voice continued, the words too soft to make out.

Elizabeth glanced up the tree, at the Plants. From here she could look up beneath the spreading umbrella of branches, and they were readily visible. None of them were looking towards Knives. They were all staring down at the humans below, like curious children clinging to their branches. There was no hint of expression on their pale faces.

"Of all the things to-"

Stryfe stilled, then covered her face, and Millie raised her arm stiffly. She was speaking, but it was still too soft, and Elizabeth couldn't bring herself to move.

Millie Thompson shouldn't have been talking.

Were the Plants compensating for the strokes, as Knives had done?

She glanced back at him, but he appeared oblivious of her presence.

"Millie, you're babbling." Stryfe's tone was brusque.

"It doesn't hurt." Millie stopped to take a breath. "Sempai, tell my family what happened, okay? If they don't hear from me they'll worry."

"Tell them yourself." It was almost brittle.

"And don't you forget, Miss Meryl Stryfe, that you're the best partner a girl could have wished for!" Even lying flat on her back, Elizabeth could hear the smile in Thompson's voice. The happy quality she put effort into projecting, that this was all okay.

"Stop it! Stop it, Millie, you're going to be okay-"

"Keep an eye on Mr. Vash and Mr. Knives." Her voice never wavered.

"Don't, Millie. Just don't-"

"And tell Miss Elizabeth and Mr. Carter and Doc that I said hi . . ."

Thompson's back arched, lifting her off the ground, and then she gasped in a ragged breath. Even from ten yarz the engineer could see the expression of shock on her face. She was looking over Meryl's shoulder, right at Knives. Her mouth moved again, but she said nothing, her eyes wide with disbelief.

Her hand partially reached up, grasping at the air in front of Stryfe. Then she collapsed, as if someone had tripped over the extension cable and yanked it from the socket.

Elizabeth stood there, shocked, and then looked towards Knives.

He was moving.

He had turned away, his hand covering his mouth, and his back was to her, and hunched. Something dripped from his hand and his sure stride faltered. For a moment she thought he was going to fall, but he caught himself, and continued away without so much as a glance at her. Every three or four strides he would lurch a little, almost tottering before recovering.

He looked like a survivor walking away from a bulb explosion.

Had . . . Knives . . . ?

Stunned, she looked back towards the tree. Towards the Plants. They had moved, as well; there were four of them, they were clinging heads down, impossibly, with several sets of arms or legs wrapped around the trunk like insects. Their long hair masked their faces, and in the breeze it moved almost exactly like the leaves above them.

Meryl Stryfe let out a low wail, and bent over Thompson.

Elizabeth glanced back at Knives, but he was gone.

The Plants were moving down the tree towards the two.

Elizabeth hurried forward, and they responded to her approach by stopping their advance. That was good. They were waiting to see what would happen. What was going to happen now.

Hesitantly, she came to stand by Meryl's side, acutely aware that there was long blonde hair inches from her own. Meryl didn't react; she was clutching the arm that Millie had stretched out, holding her hand to her mouth. Millie was watching her expressionlessly, her right eye only half open.

This was the end of the woman that had been her constant companion for years.

"Meryl . . . " She put her hand – very gently – on Stryfe's shoulder. "Meryl, I'm sorry."

Stryfe sobbed – or maybe laughed. "She – she was l-looking for you-"

"And she saw you. She knew you were here. That's what matters."

Another half-laugh. "Apparently my s-singing is so bad it's . . . almost enough to w-wake someone from th-the d-d-"

Elizabeth squeezed her shoulder. "Did she say anything?"

The tiny woman still hadn't released Millie's hand, but she tugged Thompson's shirt down, straightening it. Making her look more proper. "She worried about us," Meryl whispered. "She was here all alone until the end, and s-she was worrying about us-s."

Elizabeth almost smiled. "That sounds like a very Millie thing to do."

"She smiled at me . . ." Meryl took a shuddering breath. "She smiled at me the same way Vash always did. She just . . . just knew."

There was nothing to say to that, and Meryl reverently laid Millie's hand on her stomach. Then she reached up, and hesitated. "Goodbye, Millie," she whispered, and extended trembling fingers that closed her eyes.

It made her look more peaceful. The sagging of her face was evening as her muscles relaxed, and Meryl tucked a lock of oily hair behind her ear.

"Go give that priest of yours what for me, okay?"

Elizabeth swallowed a lump in her throat, and glanced upward.

She was nearly nose to nose with one of the Plants.

"Meryl," she said calmly, "I think someone else wants to pay their respects. Is that okay?"

Beneath her hand, Meryl tensed, straightening the nightshirt again. "I-I'm sorry, if it's Aaron can he wait until I've – she wouldn't want everyone to see her like this –"

"No, it's not Aaron," the engineer interrupted, calmer still, and put enough pressure on Meryl's shoulder to stop the woman from springing up.

Stryfe glanced up, eyes tearstained and confused, and they widened almost comically. Her breath caught; after the sobbing, the silence was strange, and the Plant tilted her head in a manner Elizabeth would have sworn was inquisitive, though her expression was still utterly blank.

No. No it wasn't blank.

It was Millie's expression.

The Plant's eyes were closed. They were glowing through her eyelids.

"I don't think Millie was alone," Elizabeth observed quietly.

"S-she wasn't," Meryl admitted, and the engineer was almost surprised enough to look down at her. Almost.

"They were here yesterday." Meryl sounded almost awed. "And this morning. They were talking for her."

Talking for her . . . ? Had they been the ones to help her say goodbye?

"Thank you," Meryl said, projecting loudly enough for more than just the closest one to hear. "For staying with her. I know she appreciated it."

The Plant regarded her through its eyelid, and otherwise didn't move.

". . . one of them touched me," Meryl continued, trying to keep her voice low and smooth. "Yesterday. I don't remember anything else until this morning. There's no blisters . . ."

That was why Meryl hadn't come back. She'd had radiation sickness.

"Sometimes there isn't," Elizabeth replied. "I've seen Plants go out of their way to avoid burning humans if they can. Still, it's a type of radiation poisoning. You shouldn't have any lasting effects."

Meryl was quiet a moment, and then there was a rustling sound. Elizabeth glanced back down, surprised to see that Stryfe was busy with arranging Thompson again.

"That's not what I meant," she said softly, bringing Millie's other hand up to cross it over her stomach as well. "Aaron, is he . . . is he okay?"

"He's fine." It was an overstatement, but now she was feeling slightly more sympathetic to the diminutive insurance saleswoman. "I told him I'd be back in half an hour. Perhaps we should take Millie back with us –" At least to give her a bath before burial.

"No." It was immediate. "I think Millie would have preferred this. She always loved trees."

The engineer subsided, glancing back up at the Plant again. She was hanging completely motionless, as if her unnatural position was no strain to her muscles. The only thing that moved was her hair. The others seemed content to stay where they were, just above her, their countenance all a mirror of Millie.

If they had had some type of telepathic connection to Millie, and they were fine, then what on Gunsmoke had happened to Knives? All those men he'd slain on the New Kennedy, and there had never been so much as a twitch from him. What had he been doing?

. . . had he been fighting with the other Plants?

"Can you do me a favor?"

The engineer nodded silently. "Anything."

Meryl Stryfe squared her shoulders, indicating she wanted the hand removed. ". . . do you think you can find a shovel?"

-x-

Doc shoved the stool out of the way, hurrying as quickly as his weak legs could carry him. Blood from the ears and nose could indicate anything from a concussive shock wave to a pathogen, but given that Knives had a Plant-like physiology there was another explanation –

The young man appeared from thin air, directly between them, and those shining pearled calamus puffed out like the fur on the back of a threatened mongrel. The message could not have been clearer.

Nor could he have cared less. "Stand aside!" he ordered, making a sweeping gesture with his good arm. "He needs help-"

The young man did nothing of the kind.

Doc tried to sidestep him and the young man made a gesture of his own, backhanding Doc's wrist away. The pain was instant; he might as well have slammed the inside of his wrist against a steel hedgehog. It radiated up his arm with his blood, and if he had not already self-administered painkillers not twenty minutes ago, it probably would have been enough to render him unconscious.

As it was, he was likely headed instead for a heart attack. He clutched the arm to himself with a shout, and sat down hard on the floor. From there, around the spots, he could see that blood was pooling beneath Knives' face.

"Young . . .man . ." he gasped. "Your master . . . he needs . . . help-"

In response, the mutant vibrated the calamus on his arm. It made an ominous hissing rattle.

Don't touch.

Doc cried out in frustration, bent over his arm. Dear lord, this was probably how poor Vash felt when he'd broken his forearm and the prosthetic was too damaged to help him cradle it. Fire was racing through his chest, and Doc wondered what it was the mutant had injected.

Nothing good.

"You . . . your mutation . . . can you . . . sense the chemicals . . . in someone else's . . . blood?"

There was nothing to suggest that the calamus were bi-directional. It was possible that he simply injected hormones based on his best guess of his victim's weight and blood chemistry, but the nuance necessary to make him selectively forget things, forget what he was doing, forget about Millie Thompson . . . and he was too young to have learned that through trial and error.

It was just a hunch, but if he was right . . .

The young man stared at him, still puffed and threatening. Doc's arm began to cramp.

"Then you can . . . tell that . . . I'm not lying. Lying releases . . . specific neurotransmitters . . ." It was almost impossible for him to force the limb to extend, the rigid muscles curled it close to his chest, but his fingers still responded, reaching out in silent plea. "I . . only want . . . to help him."

Knives' guard did not move.

Doc held out as long as he could, but the cramping and his shortness of breath were getting more pronounced. Definitely a cardiac event. A fatal attack to protect Knives, one that might result in the Plant's death as well. Foolishness-

Fingertips on his face.

Of course. A liar's cheeks would temporarily flush with blood. Perhaps the levels of chemicals he could sense were limited, or –

The mutant shoved him abruptly onto his back, slapping the flat of his hand down just below Doc's neck. He couldn't have struggled if he'd wanted to, and he didn't want to – the pressure on his lungs eased almost immediately. He sucked down deep, even breaths, letting his circulatory system do its work. It took several minutes before the weight on his chest seemed to ease, and Doc gratefully nodded at the mutant.

The young man – he really needed learn his name, hadn't Knives called him Wright? - eyed him skeptically.

No matter. "We . . . need to get him on . . . the table."

-x-

Author's Notes: Look! Nothing happened!

Well, almost nothing. I'm going to disappear for a little while so I wanted to get as much of it done as possible before I vanished. I know MoonClaimed is reading, so at least one of you will still be around when I finish this beast. As always, no beta, and I'm doing this as quickly as possible, so I do apologize for the typos or word repetition I saw in the last chapter. Hopefully this wasn't all too predictable, and for those who have sat through 31 long chapters to see Vash, I can promise you without a doubt –

Vash will either wake up next chapter, or die. ; )