About an hour into their journey they hit their first hurdle.

With no sign of pursuit, Wolfwood had finally eased up on the accelerator - he was still pushing the upper limit of what the truck could handle, but no worse than the abuse Meryl regularly put it through, and if they were going to be driving for the rest of the day it stood to reason that they would all prefer not to spend every minute of it braced against their seats.

Where they were going was another question entirely. He'd changed direction since leaving town in the vague hope that anyone following would stick to their original heading, but beyond that he was at a loss. Neither Roberto or Meryl had offered a suggestion.

Wolfwood's current plan was to keep going until the battery gave out, then figure out their next move while it charged up. Maybe that meant aiming for the next town over. Maybe that meant driving deep into the sand wastes where no one could find them. The comforting part was that he didn't have to think about it at all for the time being, which saved him an added source of stress he absolutely did not need right now.

This had overall left him feeling a little more positive about things - which was to say the urge to throttle someone was slowly abating and his grip on the steering wheel was no longer numbing his fingers - and he was weighing up the wisdom of winding down the window for a smoke. If he asked nicely Roberto might even light one up for him.

He needed one badly. He'd needed one since the moment they pulled up in front of the spire, an incessant itch under his skin that begged for release, for the hit of dopamine that dulled the ragged edges of his anxiety and soothed it to something more human, palatable…

But he could indulge the craving and take solace in the habit, something mundane to ground himself with, and after a few more hours of cordial silence and no sign of trouble he would begin to resemble something of his old self.

Then Meryl went and ruined everything.

"I think he has a fever," she said, shattering the quietude they had all grown accustomed to and spring loading his nerves with a tension he had only just begun to unwind.

His jaw clenched. Eyes darted quickly to the rearview mirror.

It was the same scene Wolfwood had come to expect from his many intermittent glances - Vash spread out across the backseats with his head pillowed in her lap, legs folded awkwardly in the footwell to accommodate their length. Still glowing. Still dead to the world.

"Cold compress. Wet something down and keep it on his head. 'bout the only thing we can do out here," Roberto said, not bothering to turn around.

Wolfwood let his gaze linger. He watched as Meryl moved to obey, carefully so as not to jostle Vash as she emptied half a water bottle over the remnants of the blanket she had torn to shreds.

An unexpected bump sent her cursing - miraculously she kept her grip on the bottle despite the splash of water that soaked her tights and left droplets glittering at the edges of Vash's fringe.

Wolfwood forced his eyes forward. The last thing he needed to do was open his mouth and snap at her again. He regretted that. A little.

Besides, working up a temperature was nothing big, he'd always suspected Vash was a little different when it came to warmth anyway - no one else would run around the desert in a coat that thick without collapsing from heatstroke.

He still cracked the window. The air was hot, but the flow of it felt good against the sweat gathering at his collar and across his scalp. Sometimes he thought that was the part he missed most about the bike - the cool tug of the wind at his clothes and his hair, rushing over every piece of him in tandem.

It was good if the weather was agreeable. He would admit it kind of sucked when it wasn't.

"He's getting worse," Meryl said.

"Give it a minute," Roberto urged, "these things take time."

Wolfwood wound the window all the way down. At the speed they were going sand would definitely be rushing in along with the torrid breeze, the sharp sting of loose grains sliding over his exposed skin, but he couldn't care less. He'd open the doors if he thought there was even a chance it would help, sand be damned.

They drove on.

His focus slipped. There was no keeping it from the mirror, from studying the crease between Meryl's brow as she turned the damp cloth she'd laid across Vash's forehead to its other side, uncapping her bottle to drip more water onto its surface. Her frown deepened. Teeth met her lower lip, biting it bloodless.

He had been doing so well at not yelling at her, but Wolfwood found himself flagging - he could see it in her, the building of something, a thought she curled around, nursing in secret but not yet ready to spill.

What? he wanted to ask. What?!

Like wringing it out of her would do anything to pacify the gnawing apprehension steadily brewing in his own mind.

His hand left the steering wheel, groping blindly for his cigarette packet. He'd finally cornered it and worked his nails under the lid when a sudden jolt of movement snagged his attention.

Meryl was staring at her fingertips as if they had just been burned.

All patience fled him, and Wolfwood didn't bother softening his tone when he demanded, "What's the damn matter?"

Her head snapped up. Large blue eyes met his in the mirror, and he saw her swallow thickly.

"He's, uh… really hot? Like… not normal hot? Like I'm pretty sure anyone else would be dead kind of hot? He's… I don't know what to do, Wolfwood! Water isn't helping, what if he- what if-"

A shrill note was progressively taking over her voice and he judged her ten seconds away from actual tears, which told him all he needed to know, and he took his foot off the accelerator entirely so that the truck could roll to a stop.

"Keep driving," Roberto said.

"Fuck off," Wolfwood growled, "Vash needs-"

But Roberto turned in his seat, gripping the back of Wolfwood's headrest so he could lean in closer and glare into his sunglasses. He could smell the whisky on his breath. "Needs what?" he asked. "You a doctor? A plant engineer? No? Then do what you're good at and keep driving."

"But-"

"But nothing. Not going to do anyone any good if someone catches up to us. Leave Vash to us, keep driving."

Wolfwood glowered back, holding his gaze for far longer than was comfortable. Roberto didn't so much as blink. If he wanted to, Wolfwood knew he could beat the man to a bloody pulp, could ignore every one of his instructions with no concrete consequences, because he was a monster purpose built to kill and Roberto was as human as they came. He could stop the truck and hop out and there wasn't a thing the reporter could do besides grumble.

They should be terrified of him, really.

But there was no fear to be found in those murky green eyes, just an unyielding sternness which he was coming to recognise as the metaphorical foot being firmly put down.

His fingers flexed, itching for violence, itching for a cigarette, finding neither as he tore himself away from Roberto's stare and back to the windscreen. Slowly, Wolfwood pressed down on the gas pedal, letting the truck pick up speed.

Only then did Roberto let go of the headrest, twisting further around so he could address Meryl.

"Get the charging cables and the old battery out the back," he told her.

"What?"

"You heard me, newbie!"

There was a scrabble in the rearview mirror as she wiggled out from under Vash and threw herself over the backseats, rummaging frantically through the loose supplies deemed too sundry to strap to the roof racks.

"What are you doing?" Wolfwood muttered.

"Taking a shot in the dark," Roberto said lightly, flashing him just a hint of a smile. "You can laugh at me afterward if it doesn't work."

Meryl emerged, and Roberto gave Wolfwood's shoulder a pat before stretching back between the gap in the seats, leaving him with nothing but the faded brown of his jacket for a view.

He could see the bunching of fabric, the pull and relax as his arms moved, but the rest remained hidden for several agonizing seconds.

He contemplated stopping the truck anyway. Didn't. Buried the impulse. Counted his breaths nice and steady.

Then at last Roberto retreated, slumping back into the front seat.

Wolfwood's eyes remained glued to the mirror.

Very little had changed. Vash was still laid out inanimate, damp cloth across his forehead and Meryl hovering over him with painful attentiveness - the only difference was that a set of charging cables had been clamped onto his hand.

Roberto had gone and hooked him up to the old battery.

It took Wolfwood a full count of twenty to process this - the utter ridiculousness of it - before he turned his neck stiffly to watch the reporter.

Roberto had very clearly been going for his flask again, but seemed to think better of it at the last second, opting instead for a cigarette. He cupped his hand around it, guarding it from the wind as he struggled to get the flame to take.

"What makes you think," Wolfwood said with a detached sort of calm, "that Vash is battery compatible."

Giving up on the cigarette for a moment, Roberto sighed. "Like I said, shot in the dark. He was giving off static most of the way down the stairs though, so he's got something going on."

"And this helps how exactly?"

"Don't know if it will. Wait a few minutes and we'll find out."

Evidently done, he went back to fiddling with his lighter, muttering curses to himself as he struggled to coax it to life. He had resorted to curling his whole body forward around it before he finally managed to nurture enough of a flame to light his cigarette.

With a satisfied sound he settled back into a more comfortable slouch, lifting his hand to press the burning stick to his lips.

Wolfwood plucked it from his fingers before it ever got there. Taking no heed of the spluttered protests he jammed it into his own mouth, taking a long, well needed drag. The smoke felt good. He held it in his lungs as long as he could bear, only leaning out the window to exhale when his chest began to burn.

When he withdrew back into the cab Roberto was giving him a dirty look. His tongue clicked, a harsh tsk of irritation. "And you wonder why people don't like you," he said.

Wolfwood scoffed. "I don't, actually."

Shaking his head, Roberto fished out a second cigarette, restarting the arduous task of convincing it to light.

It was seven minutes later when Meryl spoke up, and only three seconds since Wolfwood's last compulsive check on the backseat passengers. She'd flipped the fold of wet cloth over again, gently testing the glowing skin beneath before she covered Vash's brow once more.

"He's cooling down," she said, sounding mystified.

Wolfwood sucked on his cigarette to save himself a response, but Roberto's laugh was sharp and barking. "Well what do you know," he said, "guess he is battery compatible, best piece of luck we've had so far. Damn good I didn't sell the thing too - might have, if they gave a decent offer. Broken battery's still useful for the components if you know who to talk to."

Meryl pursed her lips. "I don't understand…"

That made two of them. Thankfully Roberto had no interest in holding that one over them this time.

"Heat's an energy sink," he explained, one arm propped up on the window frame and the other making lazy circles through the air. "Stands to reason if he was making enough energy for a whole town, maybe he still has some to get rid of. Old battery can't handle much, but I figured it wouldn't hurt to give him another option besides turning into a furnace, maybe get rid of it a bit at a time."

"That's a hell of a guess," Wolfwood said.

Roberto shrugged, offering a lopsided grin and a puff of smoke. "What can I say, I'm full of wisdom."

Full of booze more like, Wolfwood thought, but graciously kept this to himself. There were occasional moments where a glimpse of something else peeked through the jaded and liquor fuelled exterior they were all familiar with - a pinch of cunning, intelligence…

It made him wonder what manner of man he might have been in a kinder world… if he had ever approached his work with the youthful enthusiasm and insatiable curiosity of his junior.

But that was a pointless question. No Man's Land had a way of shaping people - for Roberto it had made an alcoholic, out of Wolfwood a monster. He didn't wonder about who the boy Nicholas might have grown to be - that future had died on the operating table, and there was no amount of yearning or sleepless nights that would change that.

"Do you think…" Meryl asked, cutting his rumination short, "he has any control over it? What he's doing?"

Yeah, there was that curiosity of hers - present in the tilt of her head, the way her fingers twitched as if coveting a pen.

Wolfwood knew she had several sketches of Vash's markings hidden away in her notebook, and an embarrassing number of pages on behavioral observations and theories. On slow days, he teased her about it until she was red in the face, but the pastime had lost its charm once he'd found her keeping notes on the Eye of Michael as well. If there was a mystery, Meryl dug. It was in her nature.

"How? He's not awake," Wolfwood said.

"Maybe it's a subconscious thing? Or like… lucid dreaming?"

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Maybe he does, maybe he doesn't," Roberto said. "Ask him once he's up. As far as I'm concerned, so long as it's just heat or electricity he's pumping out then it's not worth worrying about."

Wolfwood tensed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Roberto didn't respond immediately. He inhaled the last of his cigarette, flicking the stub out the window and into the sand dunes that rolled past. "Unstable plants can go nuclear. Emit radiation."

"What?!" Meryl's mouth hung open. "And you only just thought to mention that?"

"What would you do if he was giving off rads, huh? Toss him out the car?"

"No! I don't know… something."

"Relax, newbie. If radiation was a risk they would've had proper containment up, engineers don't gamble when it comes to that stuff. Our typhoon is fine. Just let us know if you get any rashes or your teeth start falling out."

Meryl stared at the back of his seat for a moment before dropping her head.

"That's not funny, Roberto," she said quietly, almost as if it were Vash she were speaking to.

He must have heard her though, because a trace of something like guilt passed across his face.

"Yeah… no, you're right," he amended. "But try to lighten up a little… he'll be back to his normal self before you know it and you can pester him with all the questions you like, alright?"

"Alright…" she echoed, and if she did not sound convinced at least she sounded composed.

They drove on in silence long enough for Wolfwood to finish off his own cigarette and send it off to join its fellow.

"Roberto?" he asked.

"What now?"

Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a fresh cigarette from his rapidly dwindling stockpile and held it across to him. "Light."

The disgusted noise was a given. The muttered oath expected. But still, Roberto took the paper stick in his rough grasp and shielded it with his body as he yet again began the task of bullying it into flame.

It had never been the plan to stop, but Wolfwood supposed there had never been a plan to begin with - just the rudimentary urge to scarper like thomas with a colossal worm at its heels.

They drove, and they drove, and they drove, and Vash still slept, and he chainsmoked his way through it with grim determination and legs that cramped from hours pressing at the pedals.

But when his well trained eyes picked out an unusual irregularity in the shadow of a sprawling dune, he guided the truck toward it, trusting his instincts.

There was barely more to see than a steel door, half buried and unmarked. A bunker.

It was rare to stumble across them without directions, but they were a known feature of many lengthy trade routes between the more isolated towns, especially those that suffered from frequent sandstorms. Boltholes, really, stocked with the barest essentials, shelter from the many hazards the open desert had to offer but no one's first choice of accommodation.

Sometimes they were used… sometimes they were abandoned. When town's dried up and the population disbanded the need for such stops evaporated along with them. The bunkers would remain though, long forgotten tombs with no residents and no callers, desolate miles of sand on every side.

As places to lay low went, it was at least worth consideration.

Wolfwood left the engine running and gathered Punisher from the back, volunteering himself for the task of surveying the hideout

He had to clear the sizable heap of sand that had built up in front of the door before he could convince the rusted metal hinges to give, but once they surrendered it was easy enough to push his way inside and down the steps.

The air was stale. Dust coated everything. There was a rickety looking table and a set of chairs, a pair of fold up beds, and a few cupboards, but the rest was empty stone the same colour as the bedrock. It was cramped, but Wolfwood had slept in worse places, and the few layers of gravel between the single room and the surface seemed to offer some protection from the midday swelter.

"Well?" Roberto asked when he returned.

"Empty," Wolfwood said, "doesn't look like it's been used for a while. Few supplies, nothing valuable. Could fit the four of us but it won't be comfy."

"Then what are you thinking?"

He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he mulled this over. If they kept going, the battery would hold out at least until nightfall, maybe a little longer if they ran the truck at a steady speed, and that would be hours of extra distance they could gain on the town they'd fled. On the other hand he still didn't know where they were going, and while camping out in the middle of nowhere was common enough practice for their group, maybe that wasn't the smartest idea with Vash out of action and glowing like a literal beacon. That would become a problem when it got dark.

And maybe, even if they only stopped for an hour or two, it would do Vash good to rest in an actual bed and not be shaken and stirred by every rough patch of terrain they met. It was this thought that compelled him in the end.

"If we put the tarp over the truck no one will spot it unless they get close. We can stay the night, figure out if we need to move out or hunker down tomorrow."

After that they moved in union, ferrying the most important of their supplies inside and covering the vehicle so that its bulk would better blend with the landscape.

Wolfwood left Punisher in the footwell and carried Vash inside himself, cradled in his arms with Meryl trailing behind them with the battery like the world's strangest bridesmaid.

Roberto set up one of the two fold-out beds without a word. It was yellowing, musty with age and creaked metallically as he laid Vash down on it, but it beat the back of the truck so Wolfwood wasn't about to be picky.

For a moment he hesitated, wondering if he should arrange him more comfortably - arm down by his side, or folded across his middle, or- he didn't know really, just let his fingers ghost an inch over the glowing lines of his skin before he pulled back, dissatisfied and uncertain.

It was Meryl who took charge and threw a blanket over him. It was a pitifully small gesture, a testament to their utter helplessness, because none of them knew. None of them knew what he needed. What to do beyond wait and hope.

But… there was at least something humanizing about it - to see him tucked into bed, not splayed out on a cold steel table like a thing to be dissected.

The charging cables and spare battery hooked up to his right arm had the opposite effect, but that couldn't be helped - until they knew for a fact that overheating wasn't a threat to Vash they weren't about to take any chances.

"Well," Roberto said, popping a joint in his shoulder with an audible crack, "who wants to draw straws for the other bed?"

"Seriously? It's not even late."

"Might as well get the argument out the way now, not like we have anything else to do."

"You two can fight for it," Wolfwood asserted, having neither the enthusiasm nor the temper for what was usually a fun game.

Meryl looked as if she might want to say something to him at that, but changed her mind, turning to square off against her mentor. Two familiar opponents in a traditional dance.

"I'm the only lady of the group, so it's only fair-"

"And I'm twice your age, and your superior-"

Wolfwood ignored them both, sitting on the edge of Vash's cot and watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. If he let himself follow that pattern he could almost mirror it, finding calm in the rhythm, but he could just as easily stare too long at the makeshift bandages looping over his shoulders and pick at the ragged scab of his anger anew.

Had Vash cried the way Wolfwood had, the way Livio surely had, under the merciless hands of those to whom he was nothing more than a scientific marvel? Would the answer assay him even if he had not?

If there was one certainty in Wolfwood's mind it was simply that they would never touch Vash again.

He would deal with anyone on their tail, and in a few weeks they would be far enough away that this would be but a memory, cruel in kind but distant enough that it did not cut so keenly…

Except… except perhaps not, he thought, with a cold trickle of dread.

Because it was nothing new for people to want a piece of Vash, the bounty on his head was too alluring to pass up, but this constant threat was tempered by the fact that people struggled to recognise him. Rumors of the humanoid typhoon had been floating around for decades. So, when Vash appeared out of the blue with not a wrinkle in sight, they had no problem writing off the cheerful youth in their midst as a harmless fake…

But they didn't know he was a plant.

The engineers did. Engineers who were chomping at the bit to speak to the press, and to top it all off… to top it all off Wolfwood had used his name. Hadn't even thought about it, too caught up in a horror that was one part present and one part past to guard his tongue.

If they hadn't already linked the helpful stranger they'd snared with the gunman of legend, that would seal the deal.

How long before they started spreading the news… Not tall tales from small town nobodies that faded to obscurity a few drinks in and a few miles out, but the evidence backed report of respected men and women of science? Word of a walking, talking plant with the ability to heal its brethren and generate all the resources a budding town could need?

Could Wolfwood protect him then? Could Vash still wriggle his way out of conflict while refusing to forfeit a single life?

His fingers clenched tight where they dug into the thin blanket beneath him, hard enough he could feel his nails through the fabric.

It wasn't fair, but nothing was. Just illusions, a hint, a lie, some facsimile of justice that could dupe them into believing there was a set of cosmic scales at work, a brief respite from the truth…

There had been a time when Vash the stampede was nothing more than another job. Just one more name on the long list of contracts he'd served under the Eye of Michael. Keep him alive, get him to Knives, collect his reward and disappear to get drunk and maybe get laid and then forget about the whole thing. Easy.

And when he met Vash, came face to face with his target, it was a relief to find him irritating - nauseatingly self sacrificing, doggedly eager to please, hopelessly idealistic - Wolfwood was confident he could hate a man like that, and threw himself to the task with gusto.

But there was something insidious about Vash, something that crept up slowly. Or possibly it wasn't slow at all. Possibly he should have known he was doomed from the moment Vash had given him that soft little smile, and said, just look at his eyes.

Anyone else he could write off as either delusional or stupid, but at times there was something indescribably penetrating about his gaze that made Wolfwood dream that just maybe, he might be right.

That was a dangerous fantasy to entertain though, and not one he could afford.

Now, with Vash unconscious and unable to dictate their course of action, Wolfwood was reminded of the core difference between them.

Because he knew Vash. Knew that despite everything, he would turn the other cheek… beg them to forgive and forget, and take the consequences on along with all his existing burdens. Knew damn well what he would want.

But Wolfwood didn't care. He would kill whoever he had to to ensure this would never happen again.

And he didn't have to like it, that part had never been a necessity - all that mattered was that he was good at it, and he could see it done. The moral high ground wasn't worth shit if it couldn't protect the people that mattered.

He had tried to do things Vash's way (he had, really he had) but this was what Wolfwood was - vicious and small and desperate and ruthless in the pursuit of his cause… This was what the world made him.

So he would kill every engineer that might remember their precious new independent plant, and when he was done and his wounds were healing and the blood was washed from his hands he would come crawling back and console himself with the sight that awaited him - Vash, safe, now and in future. For that he would bury a mountain of bodies.

Wolfwood's hands steadied. Loosened.

He stood up in one smooth motion, the creak of springs drawing Meryl and Roberto's attention long enough that they paused their bickering.

Digging a hand into his pocket he pulled out the half empty packet of cigarettes and gave it a shake. "Going out for a smoke," he supplied.

Neither of them objected.

Back under the blistering suns, Wolfwood moved with efficiency, rolling back the tarp and folding it down so it could be stowed away with the rest of the supplies they had opted to leave with the truck. The next part was harder - getting the thing to actually run.

None of them had bothered to lock the vehicle but leaving the keys in the ignition would have been a step too far. While this might have presented a proverbial roadblock in the plan for anyone else, Wolfwood's childhood was ripe with bad habits, and between the option of trying to lift the keys from under the noses of two bored reporters and testing his recollection of days imitating the older orphanage kids newly acquainted with the concept of joyriding, his memory seemed a more likely bet.

Still didn't make it easy.

He was standing with the open door in one hand, glaring at the dashboard and wondering if he might have a smoke after all, when a glint of metal flashed through the air. Heightened reflexes and years of practice let him snatch it up before he even turned his head to look.

When he unfurled his fingers, a set of keys lay inert in his palm.

Wolfwood glanced up and found Roberto lounging against the bunker's entrance. He met his gaze readily enough, and when Wolfwood said nothing, just stood there in dumb silence, he sighed.

"Don't take this as my blessing," he said, "I'd just rather you didn't screw our ride up trying to hotwire the thing."

The silence continued. The metal was warm against his skin. There were a multitude of things he could have said, but after chewing the matter over, Wolfwood asked, "How'd you know?"

Roberto snorted. "Please, I'm a reporter. Knowing is my job."

That was a non-answer, but maybe it was kinder on both of them that way. He didn't need to hear just how much of him Roberto had puzzled out.

He pocketed the keys, leaning back against the truck and putting on his best smirk, the same one he wore while stealing his cigarettes or teasing Meryl with worm larvae or flicking loose pebbles at Vash to pass the time. A personality they endured with begrudging fondness. "And here I thought," he drawled, "you were just a washed up old drunk."

"Ouch. Really going for the eyes there, aren't you?"

Roberto's chuckle dried up, and his expression sobered. "Look…" he said at length, "I don't care what he is, or how old he is, or who his crazy brother is, that man doesn't deserve to be treated like a thing. Doesn't sit right with me. And maybe you and I, maybe we'll never be pals, but I think we can agree on that. So. Take the keys. Do what you need to."

His piece spoken, he took his flask out and began to unscrew the top with gratuitous slowness.

Wolfwood cleared his throat. "Thanks…" he tried, since that seemed like the right sort of thing to say.

Roberto rolled his eyes. "Get a move on, undertaker. Light's burning. I'll keep 'em safe till you get back."

When the truck stilled on the vacant stretch of sand and the engine died and left him suffocating in the noiseless hush that followed, night had well and truly fallen. Three of the five moons hung above, their pale glow etching the shape of the surrounding dunes but bleeding them of all colour. Wolfwood sat with his hands still on the wheel and thought of nothing.

Emptiness was nice sometimes.

But emptiness did not move him forward, so he worked his way through the last of his cigarette packet as if the smoke could fill the void, and when he was done he didn't feel better but he did feel more human. It was enough to jump start the rest - to hop out the truck and gather his things, fix the tarp in place, walk up to the bunker and knock sharply on the door.

Roberto opened it a crack, looking him over brusquely before pulling it the rest of the way open and standing aside to let him through.

"There's a couple more batteries in the truck," Wolfwood said as he slipped past, "if he needs them."

The bunker was the same as it had been when he left - confined, dilapidated - the only difference appeared to be the unmarked jars and cans spread across the table for investigation.

Vash still lay motionless where Wolfwood had set him. Meryl had evidently won the contest for the other bed because she was perched cross-legged at its end, notebook in hand and nibbling at her pen.

Wolfwood tossed his bundle at her unceremoniously. A squark, a flailing of limbs, but she caught the tightly wrapped ball of red fabric regardless, shooting him an icy glare.

"What-"

"His clothes and his arm," he said.

That gave her pause. She looked down at the bundle, a complicated array of emotions tugging at her delicate features.

"Wolfwood, what did-"

"Anything to drink in this place, old man?" Wolfwood called loudly.

Meryl's disgusting little reporter brain would put the pieces together sooner or later, but he didn't see the point in spelling it out for her.

"Few bottles," Roberto told him, "doesn't taste great, but not the worst I've had either. It'll do the job."

"Good enough for me."

He began to rummage through the cupboards, finding the promised brew and holding it up to the light. The liquid was dark and cloudy, but when he popped the lid and took a sniff the welcome tang of fermentation met his nose. He tucked it under his arm and went searching for glasses. Of these, there were none, but there were several dented tin mugs, so he swept up two and carried them over to the table.

Roberto was already sitting down with the mystery cans pushed to one side to clear space for them.

"You want to pour?"

"Nah, you do the honors. Fill her up," Roberto said, rattling the mug Wolfwood had set in front of him.

He tipped the bottle. Only when the liquid met the brim did he stop and move to decant his own share.

"Oh," Meryl said from across the room, "so we're just going to drink all our problems away now, is that it?"

Wolfwood finished pouring and set the bottle down. "Yep. Want to join us?"

To her credit, she wavered for a moment. But all at once something seemed to crumple within her, and then she too was at the table, sliding into the empty chair with her elbows propped up on the flimsy surface and her chin dropped into her hands. "God yes."

He grabbed a third mug.

((Yeah so... four parts it is. I feel kind of 'eh' about this chapter. I did contemplate cutting the battery scene, partly because I didn't know if it was necessary and also partly because someone else snuck in and got the 'Vash dumps energy into a car battery' thing written first, but I think it's not healthy to stress too much about that kind of stuff (and also they seem really nice so I think they probably wouldn't mind anyways). So, that scene stays, and there goes any hope of keeping this down to three parts. But the next part will be the last one. For real this time.

Stay strong for stampede Saturday/Sunday people, that cliffhanger has me on the edge of my seat. And if you have any comments, know that I would eat them up without hesitation.))