Title:  Vita, Poena, et Libertas

Author:  Kaitlyne McLeod

Email:  kaitlyne_mcleod@yahoo.com

Description:  Major spoilers for Trigun.  Knives' pov (if you don't know what a knives is, don't read this!)  Anime based.  Author's notes at end.

Disclaimer:  These characters don't belong to me.  They belong to Yasuhiro Nightow and various and a sundry others.

Vita, Poena, et Libertas

He leaves me during the day.  Goes off to God knows where.  There must be a town somewhere nearby, someplace that he can walk to and back from in one day.  Sometimes he's only gone for a few hours.  Sometimes it's nearing dusk when he comes back, and the shadows in the cave are long and red with the suns.

            I don't know why he leaves.  Maybe he has some purpose out there, or he's just trying to get away from me.  Or maybe he understands how much I need to be left alone right now. 

            He's late.  It's getting dark.  There's a cloth hanging near the entrance, and though I can't see it, its shadow is dancing on the stone above my head.  It almost seems to be growing as the minutes pass, some dark monster that will eventually swallow me whole.  I watch the shadow for a long time, lying still, listening to it flap in the bursts of wind.  It dances to its own music.  I count out its beat in my head.

            The shadow reaches the far wall.  Normally he would have returned hours ago.  I sit up and the pain hits me, takes my breath away.   I fall back, appreciating that at least Vash had the decency to lay me on a thick mattress instead of the stone.  My heart is quick in my throat, and sweat appears on my face, cooled by the wind.  I close my eyes, concentrate on breathing, slow....in...out....in....out, until I can imagine the pain away.  When I open them again dust is insulating my face, and the light is fading even more. I stare off to the left as far as I can see.  The far wall is in shadows, but I can still make out the bundle of Vash's blankets, still lying where he kicked them aside this morning.  Near them is a bowl of water.  The cloth that had covered it lays a few feet away, and no doubt the water will need to be filtered again. 

            Okay, I'm ready.  I breathe in deeply, move my left arm near my side and use it as a lever until I am propped on it and can turn my head to see the entrance. 

            The dancing cloth proves itself to be a blanket, hung still from one corner while the others flap noisily.  The metal pin that had held the other side clanks occasionally against the stone of the entrance, but the sound is muted and gone as soon as it is there.  He must have known it would be windy today.  The precaution had failed however, and with my new vantage point I am able to see the thin layer of sand that covers the floor of the cave.  In some places it looks like it might even be a few inches deep. 

            I push myself up the rest of the way.  The world spins for a minute, and I'm afraid I'm going to fall over again.  I close my eyes, focus again on breathing.  It's dark out.  Not completely pitch black yet, the sky is still a lighter blue around the edges, but it will be soon.  There's a lamp beside the bowl.  I stare at it, wondering if it's worth it, but knowing in a few minutes I'll want the light and I'd much rather find it now than have to stumble to it in the dark.  I wonder where he is, if he's coming back at all. God it hurts so much just to breathe.  How am I going to do this?

            I pick up my left leg and swing it over the edge of the bed, am not surprised that I don't feel it as it thuds to the ground.  The other moves much more smoothly.  Already I can hardly see the silhouette of the bowl.

            I'm crawling on the floor, my breath quick.  I hadn't realized how much I want that light, but I'm moving towards it, more than I've moved in days, and I'm there before I notice the pain, and I'm sitting beside it and fumbling through the blankets for the matches that I know Vash keeps around here somewhere, and finding them as the last light is beginning to fade and I can barely see the strike plate.

            The light is quick and warm, and I turn the dial to raise the oil soaked cloth higher, until the cave is filled with new dancing shadows to watch.  I turn my back to the wall and lean against it, breathing easier, watching the entrance at first, but the sand stings my eyes and finally I close them.

            I don't even hear him come in.  I notice that the wind is gone and that he's tied back the blanket, and I know he sees me before he makes mention of it.  Finally he walks inside, sets down his duffle bag, smiles that hideously fake smile of his and says, "Knives, you're up!"

            I don't respond, not really sure that I can at this point.  I try to sit up higher and wince.

            "Hey now, be careful-" He's coming towards me.

            I don't listen to him and push myself up higher.  "Oh, fuck."  The words are quiet but he heard them. 

            "Whoa there, take it easy."  He's beside me now, helping me stand, holding me and dragging me to the bed.  "You opened it back up again."

            I don't look down, I can feel the warmth spreading over my torso.  I lean my head back and close my eyes.

            He's rummaging through his bag now, and he comes back with a roll of bandages.  He frowns at the water in the bowl and pulls out a drinking cup.  He shakes off the cloth on the floor, drapes it over the cup and begins sifting the water through it.  "Sorry, but this is gonna take a minute."

            I still don't speak.  I don't have anything to say.

            I'm getting lightheaded again, and this time I don't really care when I start to slump over.  He's beside me and the touch of his hands on my skin is like spider webs.  I'm cold again, and even the water he pours over me feels warm.  I don't feel the pain.  Soon I don't feel anything except the cold, and soon that's gone as well.

            I'm awake again and he's gone.  I must be getting better; it's getting easier to breathe.  I try to sit up.  The pain is there but not as bad as it has been.  I clench my teeth and sit up all the way.  Yes, this is definitely getting easier.

           I wonder where he goes.  I know why he brought me here.  Out here, I'm the one who's lost.  Out here, I have nothing but this cave and the sand outside.  Out here, the wind blows away his tracks long before I could have any hope of following.

            I've considered the idea already.  Finding my way to that town, maybe even a vehicle and leaving before he has a chance to find me.  Recuperating on my own terms, in my own world.  But I know this desert.  Know it well enough to know that I wouldn't make it far, not in the condition that I'm in, not with my leg.  If I knew which direction, maybe I could do it, but out here there's nothing, and going the wrong way would be suicide. 

            For my part, I'm glad he's gone.  Now I can stare at the shadows on the wall until he gets back. 

            I'm still sitting when he returns, and I can hear him coming from quite a ways off.  He's whistling this time.  At first it sounds like the wind.  I can catch just the slightest hint of a song before it's swept away again.  I can't make out the tune.  I'm not sure he even knows. 

            He pushes aside the blanket that serves as our doorway and ducks inside, caked in sand.  He shakes his arms and head and it sprays over the floor.   "Now I remember why I used to wear a coat," he says.  He sits on his bed, facing me.  "Man, I'm glad to see you up.  I was starting to get worried.  You were out for a long time this time."

            I nod at him.

            For a few minutes there's only the sound of the wind, and then he speaks again, smiling that awful smile of his.  "You should see it out there!  The wind is worse than I've seen it in years.  I could barely see coming back --"

            "Cut the crap, Vash."

            It's the most I've said to him in days. 

            The smile is gone immediately.  He stares for a moment, and mutters an "okay."

            He reaches into his bag and pulls out a covered plate, hands it to me.  "I brought you some food."

            I take it, open the foil lid.  Pasta.  "I thought you didn't expect me to be awake."

            "I didn't, I brought it for myself.  But since you are, I figure you need it more than I do."

            I can accept that.  I twirl the pasta around a fork, taste a bite.  It isn't bad. 

            He pours water from his flask into my glass as well and pushes it towards me. 

            It feels good to be eating again, eating real food and not gruel.  I'm not sure if it's all in my head or not, but I feel stronger as I eat it.  More normal.

            He's taking off his shirt, undoing the buttons one by one with tired fingers.  I don't notice the bandage beneath it at first, not until he winces as he shrugs the shirt from his shoulders.  "You're hurt."

            He looks at me for a moment like I'm a fool.  "Yeah, you shot me remember?"

            He shakes the shirt and more sand falls to the floor.  He looks at it hopelessly and then tosses it down as well.

            "I didn't realize you were injured."

            "You shot me.  That's all.  I've come through a lot worse than this."

            Suddenly the pasta is bland in my mouth.  I've only finished a few bites but I'm sure I can't eat anymore.  I pass the plate back to him and he takes it gratefully, eating quickly.  He almost seems content like that, leaning against the rough stone wall, eating after me in a way we haven't done since we were children.  I know him better than that, though.  I feel his pain.  This man suffers.

            "Why are you doing this?"

            He looks up at me, mouth full.  "Doing what?"
            "Keeping me here."

            He shrugs.  "It just seemed like the right thing to do."

            I lean back as well, resist the urge to wince.  If he's as hurt as I know he is and he goes out everyday and does whatever it is that he does, I'll be damned if I'm going to show him how much I'm hurting right now.

            "Vash, how old are we?"

            "I don't know...I sorta stopped keeping count somewhere around a hundred twenty-five."

            I actually laugh at that. 

            "But hey, at least I'm the only person I know who's actually believed when I tell them I'm only twenty-seven."
            I'm still smiling. "Yeah, I know."  Part of me is surprised to hear that they'd believe he is actually that old.  But now, sitting with me in our cave, his eyes betray his age.  He has lived more than any of them.  "Vash, don't you think a hundred and thirty-two years is a bit long to keep the same haircut?"

            Now he laughs.  A true, full laugh.  "Yeah, I guess it is.  Same goes for you though."

            "Hey, I had mine long for a few years back there.  You wouldn't have recognized me.  I decided it was too difficult to manage."

            "Yeah, same here.  It just...wasn't me."  He takes another bite.

            "Do you do it because of her?"

            He's surprised by the question, I can tell.  "At first" is what he says with his lips, but his mind says sometimes.  "It was something that kept her alive.  And then....later, after July, after the bounty, it was part of who I was.  I guess I felt like changing it would be like...denying myself."

            I wonder if he's ever spoken like this to anyone else.  I would guess no.

            "Is that why you brought me here?  Because you didn't want to deny yourself?"

            He shakes his head.  He doesn't know.

            "I can't be the man you want me to be."
            He looks away.  "I know."

            "Then what do you want from me?"

            The look he gives is filled with pain.  "I just want you to live."

            It's after noon when I wake up the next day, and I'm surprised to find him there.   He's sitting just outside the entrance, stirring a fire with a smoldering metal pole.  A pot sits on the embers. 

            He looked back up to me.  "Hey, I was just fixing some lunch.  You hungry?"

           I nod, and he kicks sand over the fire and brings the pot inside and pours the contents into two bowls.  He smiles as he hands it to me.  He actually looks happy. 

            "You're home early." 

            He nods.  "Yeah, got lucky.  Someone decided to pull a shift for me." 

            I bring a spoonful of the rice to my mouth, realize that he probably isn't working as a cook. 

            "Come on," he says, taking a bite of his own, "it's not that bad. I mean, I've made worse."  I can't help a smile as he grimaces. "Okay, you're right, it sucks.  But you try cooking out here with the sand blowing everywhere."

            We hear the jeep at the same time and turn to the entrance.  He's on his feet quickly.  "Wait here." Yeah, like I'm gonna be going anywhere.

            He steps past the blanket, and I can briefly see the jeep parked in front of us. 

            "I thought I said you shouldn't come here."

            "If I didn't think it was important I wouldn't have come, now would I?"  A woman.  This is getting mildly interesting.  I wouldn't have guessed that he had a love interest hidden out there in that town.

            He still sounds annoyed, but it's softened now.  "What happened?"

            "It's your boss.  He's having a royal fit back in town.  Wallis didn't show up to work today.  He called him up and apparently Wallis says he didn't know anything about working for you."

            He's moved to lean against the wall; I can't see his shadow anymore.  "Oh shit."

            "Yeah, and now Loomis says that if you aren't back to work in an hour you're fired."

            They are silent for a moment.

            "It's still hurting you, isn't it?"

            "I'm fine."

            "Vash, if you keep working this way you're just going to make it worse.  When you left yesterday you could barely move you're arm."

            "I said I'm fine.  I'll be okay.  I just need to get my stuff together.  Can you wait out here for me?  I shouldn't be more than a few minutes."

            "Is he awake?"
            He moves back in front of the blanket, blocking the entrance. "Yeah." 

            "And you're just going to leave him here?"

            "I've been leaving him here for the past week and there hasn't been a problem."

            "But what if he decides to leave?  You can't leave him here unguarded."

            "He's not going to leave."

            "You can't know that!"

            "What good would it do him?  He knows that if he leaves I'd come after him again.  And I have the advantage right now.  He wouldn't be able to accomplish anything."

            "It doesn't take long to kill a man."

            "He wouldn't do that."

            "How can you say that, Vash?  Look at everything he's done already.  To you, to all those people he killed.  How can you say that he wouldn't do it again?"

            "I don't know, Meryl.  It's just...what good would it do him?  Why bother the risk?  Not when he knows I'd find him again."

            "So you just plan to keep him here, imprisoned for the rest of his life."

            There's a long pause.  "I don't know.  For as long as it takes."

            "For what?  For him to decide not to kill people?  For him to stop being a threat?  Come on, Vash, you and I both know the chances of that happening."

            "I'm not trying to protect everyone else.  I'm...trying to protect him."

"From what?"

"From himself.  Now if you'll excuse me, my hour is going fast and I need to get my bag."

            He comes inside, looks at me but diverts his eyes as soon as they meet my own.  "I'm going to have to go for a little while.  I'll try to be back soon."

            He's pouring water for me, setting it beside my bed.  He sits on his own and puts the flask in the bag, though I'm sure it's mostly empty by now.  He looks at the rice as though debating whether or not it should join the flask.  He looks back to me, smiles slightly. "You want this?"

            I shake my head. 

            He rummages under the bed for a moment and appears holding an old shirt.  He tears a strip from the bottom and dumps the rice onto it, wraps the cloth around it a few more times.  I wonder if the shirt is clean.  He grins again.  "It can't make it any worse."

            I see the woman coming inside before he does.  "Vash, can you hurry up, we need to get going?  Do you need any-"

            Her voice trails away as she sees me.  I can imagine what it must be like for her, seeing his double for the first time.  Not just the features, those are similar enough, it's the way I sit, so identical to positions he takes, my movements so like his own.  I know because I can remember how surreal it sometimes was.  When we were young that look was something I was very familiar with.  Even those who knew us best, even Rem, would sometimes stop and stare. 

            I reach out a hand, smile widely.  "Hello, I don't believe we've met.  I'm Knives."

            She actually startles at the sound of my voice, gives the slightest jump, even takes a step backwards.  By God she's afraid of me.  That's a good feeling.  One I hadn't realized I missed until now.

            "I'm just gonna...go start up the jeep, I'll see you...in a minute."

            She's gone as quickly as she entered.  I can't help but give him a smirk.

            He stands and goes out after her, sending a single thought my way.  It's not that funny. 

            On the contrary, I think it's quite funny.

            In the end, it was his statement that made me decide to leave.  The implication that I was too afraid.  Too weak.  Weaker than him.  Well, damn it I've spent my entire life not being afraid of him, of anyone, and I'm not ready to start now.

            I drink from the glass of water he's left.  I know I'll need it.  I'm not sure if I'll be able to make it to the town, not sure if I'll even be able to find it, but I'll need the fluids if I want to have any hope of making it farther than a few feet.  I push my leg off the bed again.  I'm going to need something to walk with.  There's no way I can make it like this. 

            I make it to the floor and start to crawl.    I can see the metal pole right outside.  Getting to it is easy.  Standing up isn't.  I grab onto the curtain and pull, digging the pole into the ground.  The dizziness that has been gone for the past three days is back, but I hold on tightly with my hands, wait for it to pass.  But then I'm standing, more than I have since the incident, not holding on to anything, simply my legs and my pole, freely.  I stumble over to the bed, sit down again and reach underneath, searching for clothes, something with sleeves.  I find nothing.  Where that man has put them I have no idea.  I pull the blanket around my shoulders.  I'll need something to block the wind. 

            It's easier when I stand this time.  I wonder what he's going to think when he comes back and I'm gone.  I wonder if he'll be afraid. 

            At first I can still make out the tire tracks.  The ruts are deeper than human footprints; the sands take longer to cover them over.  But my movements are slow, and it's only a matter of time before those fade from view, too.  The horizon is just a shimmer in the distance.  Behind me the small cave, the cliff it is cut into.  I hadn't realized until now how small that cliff really was.  For awhile longer, I can follow it, check every few steps, keep it at the same angle behind me, follow the line to the town that way, but the wind picks up, the sand flies thicker, and soon I can't see the cliff either. 

            I'm not sure how long I wander out there.  After awhile when there is nothing but desert and sky and suns, time stops, doesn't seem as important anymore.  Steps are no longer tedious, simply one after the other.  Thirst, heat, fade away.  At least until I hear his voice.

            "I'm glad I found you!  I've been looking for over an hour." 

            No, there's no way.  At first I think it's in my head.  Then the world comes rushing back, the feel of the sand on my face, windblown, stinging.  The suns are setting.  So close to dark.  How could I not have noticed?  I take a few more steps.  Maybe he'll leave me alone.

            He's following me.  I can feel him there.

            "You can't make it to the town that way.  There's nothing but desert for two hundred iles."

            I keep walking.  He's closer now.  I can hear his steps in the shifting sand.  "Will you just leave me alone!"

            He's stopped.  "I can't."

            I turn to face him.  "Why do you do this?"  I'm shouting as loudly as my lungs will allow, and yet somehow it doesn't feel loud enough.  The wind carries it away just like everything else.  "Can't you see that I just want to be alone?  Let me stay out here.  I don't care if it kills me, just leave me alone!"

            I don't need to see his face.  I can feel what he's thinking, feel it so deeply inside of me.  Somehow that makes it worse.  At least when I'm myself I don't feel much of anything.  I take a few more steps.  He sits on the ground, arms propped on his knees.  I walk more, and he does nothing. 

            The heaviness is getting worse.  I let the blanket drop from my fingers and the wind sucks it away from me.  It helps some, but the weakness is spreading.  The pole slips from my fingers and is on the ground before I even realize I've let go.  I can't keep my balance, and I fall to my knees.  I know I can't make it up again. 

            I turn over, lay on my back in the sand.  It billows across my face.  I wonder how long it would take to bury me. 

            "Fine, take me back!"

            He doesn't move.  "Are you sure?"

            "Yes I'm sure."  I'm shouting to be heard over the wind.  "You're just going to sit there until I pass out and take me back anyway, aren't you?"

            He's standing over me.  "Yes."

            He reaches down, takes my hand, and pulls me upright.  "Why?"  My voice is barely a whisper.  He wraps my arm around his shoulders, grips me around the waist.  His answer is quieter even than mine, but his face, so close to mine, I can hear it.

            "Because you're my brother."

            By the time we stumble back to the cave three moons have risen, a bright night.  The sand seems to glimmer with it.  I wouldn't have expected to enjoy the sight of the black wall that I knew was our cliff, closer still the blacker hole of the cave.  He walks me to the edge of my bed and I let go.  My fingers are stiff and I haven't been able to feel them for hours now.  I lean back, sighing heavily.  Vash does the same and for a moment I'm tempted to laugh.  It's another moment I remember from childhood, the two of us sitting together, then both speaking the same words, gesturing the same way.  It was almost a game yet was never intentional.  I don't think he's even noticed.  I don't know that I have the energy to laugh anyway. 

            He's reaching into his bag, taking a long drink from his flask.  I bet he's wishing it was alcoholic.  I know I am.  It's a long moment before he passes it to me, and I accept it.  He didn't offer it first.   I understand the meaning behind the subtlety.  I made him go out there.   He's not happy about it.  

            He reaches under his bed and tosses me a clean sheet.  I take it but don't bother to lie down.  I just sit and watch him. 

            He removes his shirt, unwinds the bandages from his torso.  They're caked in sweat and sand.  How the sand ever reaches areas like that I have no idea, but it never fails.  He throws them to the ground, a bit harder than is necessary I think.  Yes, definitely not a happy Vash.  He shakes the sand from his hair and lies down.  His stomach growls and I realize that neither of us has eaten for some time.  Exhaustion is outweighing my hunger however, and the thought of eating is slightly less than appealing.

            He stretches out on the bed not even bothering to sweep away the sand that's accumulated there and fluff's his pillow.  Firelight is dancing on his face, wispy shadows entwined with dark orange.  I would consider turning up the flame if it wouldn't require moving.

            "Aren't you going to bed?"

            I shake my head slightly.  "No.  Not right now."

            He stares at the ceiling, exasperated.  It's nice to see him in that position for a change.  "Aren't you tired?"

            I shake my head again.

            "Okay, you know what?  I have to get up in a few hours and actually go to work, and I'd like to get some sleep."

            "Then sleep."

            He turns his head, stares at me.  I give him a quick smile.

            He props himself on an arm.  "Why did you leave?"

            "You didn't expect to keep me here forever, did you?"

            He's sitting all the way now.  The way he moves you wouldn't think he'd spent the past five hours walking through the desert.

            "Is it because of what I said?  Because I said you wouldn't leave?  What were you trying to do, prove something?"

            My smile is gone completely, and for a moment I'm at a loss for words.   I've grown unaccustomed to being scolded, and the way he puts it makes me sound like a pathetic little boy.

            "Why the hell shouldn't I leave?  What's the point in staying here so you can keep me locked in a fucking cave all day while you go do God knows what in that town!"

            "I don't keep you locked in here.  There's not even a fucking door in this place!"

            "Oh, okay, let's meddle in semantics.  You keep me out in the middle of fucking nowhere, it's the same as a locked door.  That desert is your deadbolt."

            He's silent, leaning back against the wall. 

            "You have to admit I'm not exactly free to leave."

            He wipes his hand across his face, voice soft again.  "I know."

            "And we see what happens when I do."  He doesn't answer.  I didn't expect him to.  The statement is more for myself than for him.

            He looks so tired now.  Not just physically.  Emotionally.  The lines of his face seem deeper, his eyes ringed. 

            "What did you expect me to do, Knives?"

            I know that he's not just talking about the desert.

            "I mean, seriously, what did you think was going to happen?"

            I look away as I answer.  "I didn't expect to lose."  A memory comes to me again.  Playing a game of chess, the same words.  I half expect Vash to shout "Ha! So you admit defeat!" as he had done then, dance around me laughing until I finally grab him by the collar of his shirt and Rem has to come in and break us apart.  Instead he gives me a weak smile.  "Yeah, I guess I didn't either."

            He lies down again, sighs in a way that implies both comfort and fatigue.  He links his hands and leans his head on them. 

            "What are you doing for them?"

            "What do you mean?  Like what's my job?"
            I nod. 

            "I'm digging wells."

            For a second I don't actually believe him, yet it explains a lot.  "Why?"

            "Because they need the water."

            "They don't have a plant?"

            He's leaning on his side.  "Yeah, but the plants won't last forever.  Half a dozen towns in this area have already been abandoned when the plants malfunction.  They want to make sure they can live without it."

            He seems proud of what they're doing.  I look away.

            "You have to admit, it's a good idea.  They're becoming self-sufficient."

            "You say that as though it forgives them for what they've done."

            He rolls back onto his back.  "Yeah, Knives, I do.  But maybe that's because I don't see anything there to forgive."

            "How can you say that?  Look at what they've done to us!  For hundreds of years, thousands.  They destroy their own planet, enslave our relatives to make up for it, and take advantage of our abilities so they can live on a new planet that they will eventually destroy as they did the first one."

            He sighs.  Sighs as though I'm some hopeless child who just doesn't understand.  "You know, Knives, I really don't understand you.  Those people who did those things...that was a long time ago.  Those people aren't around now.  Sure they made mistakes, but hell don't we all?"

            "Mistakes?  How can you say it so lightly?  They've destroyed everything they've ever come into contact with.  They're doing it now.  They can't even keep the plants alive, and they're just going to sap everything out of this planet.  They don't even realize what they can have here and they're going to destroy it!"

            "You don't know that, Knives."  His voice is soft.

            "Well based on the evidence it seems like a pretty good bet."

            "You've tried to convince me of this before."

            "And after all these years you still don't believe me?  After all that they've done to you?  My God, Vash, they've been doing it from the time you were a child."

            When he speaks again I can barely hear his voice.  "They're not all Steves you know."

            I stare at him.  "How can you say that?  If anything I thought you'd have realized their true nature by now."

            "They aren't all bad people.  Yes, some of them, but not all of them.  I've had friends.  I've met people who were willing to sacrifice themselves to save another.  Those people, those are the ones who make it worth the hope."

            "Do you know what I've seen?  I've seen people who don't give a damn about anyone else, who cheat and swindle and are willing to do anything for sixty billion goddamn double dollars." 

            "We aren't any different from them."

            "Of course we are-"

            "Don't give me any of the bullshit about how we're superior.  We are the same as them.  We are just as capable of destruction, of causing pain.  And simply because you chose to surround yourself by the worst scum on this planet doesn't make you right, it makes you uninformed."

            I lean back, crossing my arms over my chest.  "The same could be said for you.  You've spent your life believing meaningless ramblings of the most naïve person I've ever met."

            He sits up, throws the blanket away from himself.  He perches on the edge of the bed, fingers gripping the mattress.

            "Look at me, Knives.  What do you see? 

            I lift my eyes to his, meet them with the same intensity he offers me.

            "Every scar on this body is here because of you.  Because you hired people to come after me.  Or because you put a fucking bounty on my head and they were trying to collect."

            "Oh, now I think you're exaggerating.  Surely I can't be held responsible for all of those."

            He stares at me as though I haven't spoken at all.  I watch his jaw clench, and he reaches to his left arm, grips it above the elbow, gives it a twist and pulls hard.  He sets the arm on his lap, gestures towards me with the pinched stump.

            "This one, you did this one yourself, you held the gun in your own hand!"

            I give him a small shrug, can't help a smirk to go with it.  I remember that day.  I remember the smack his arm made hitting the ground. 

            "How can you tell me that we're better than they are when you are the exact same.   Everything that you hate about them you are yourself."  He throws he arm towards me.  I catch it with one hand.  It's heavier than I would have expected.  I lay it across my lap.

             He rests his forehead on his hand.  "God, Knives why can't you realize that we aren't any different from them?"

            "If you want to win sometimes you have to play the game by their rules."

            His eyes snap up to meet mine. 

            "And what do you want to win, Knives?  What's the point of all of this?"

            "I want to right a wrong that was committed millions of years ago."

            "Existence."

            "Yes."

            "Don't you realize that if it wasn't for them we wouldn't exist at all?"

            "If it wasn't for them we wouldn't need to exist."

            "We can't make that kind of decision!  We aren't gods, Knives!  You can't kill a whole species just because you believe we are some sort of sadistic saviors!"

            "And what would you suggest we do, Vash?  Coddle them?  Pretend that nothing they have done is wrong?  Wait until it happens again and it's too late to stop them?  They should have been stopped long ago.  They don't even deserve the opportunity that bitch gave them.  Look at what they've already done.  They haven't changed, they'll never change!"

            "That isn't true, people can change!  I've seen it all my life!" his voice begins to crack.  "It can happen."  I'm shocked to see how much it still hurts him to think about that man.

            "Perhaps a person can change.  But a single person doesn't make up for a species.  And for every person who changes in a positive way, another person changes in a negative one.  It cancels out until all that is left is the essence, the median.  And that essence cannot be changed."

His face is creased as he looks towards me.  My voice softens.  "You can still join me if you want.  We can still make things right.  That's what you want isn't it?  To make things right?  And then after its done we can live here and make this world what it should have been, what it has the potential to be without them.  We can have the paradise you've always wanted."

He stands, begins pacing quickly around the small alcove.  "How can you even say that?  You can't judge a person by the actions of others.  There are good people in this world, people who deserve the chance to live, the opportunity-"

"People like Wolfwood?"

He stops dead in his tracks, glares at me as though my mentioning the name is some sort of sacrilege.

"You know, maybe you are right.  Perhaps Wolfwood had a few...redeeming qualities.  He was the most loyal man I've ever met."

            "He betrayed you."

            He says this as though he expects me to erupt in anger, shout "he DID?" with shock and contempt.  My voice is calm, however.  "I never said he was loyal to me.  Perhaps you'd rather we adopt his principles?  Maybe I would be willing to give you that alternative.  I can bring them to you, you can decide which are worthy of living, which are worthy of passing on their 'righteousness.'  I'd be willing to give them a generation, perhaps even two.  See if you can prove me wrong."

            "It isn't our choice to make!"

            "Then whose choice is it?  God's?"

            He's chewing on his finger.  "It's not ours."

            "Well, Vash, I don't believe in God.  I believe that if any being on this planet is worthy of making that kind of decision it is us.  Look at the power we are capable of.  Look at our lives."

            "We can die just like they can, and you know it as well as I do."

            "Really?  Because it hasn't happened yet.  For all we know we're immortal."

            I don't really believe it and he knows it, but it's worth the frustration I can see building behind those eyes. 

            "How can you be so arrogant?"

            The smile I give him now is the most genuine I've had in a long time.  "I'm not arrogant.  I'm just right."

            "Give me my fucking arm back," he says reaching towards me.  He grasps it before I have the chance to hold it out, slides it back into place.  He leans over the side of his bed, comes up holding a pair of sunglasses.  I wonder why he's even bothering with them; it's still completely dark outside.  He doesn't seem to mind however and puts them on anyway.  The firelight reflects off the lenses while he puts on his shirt.

            "Are you going somewhere?"

            "What the hell difference does it make?"
            "Just didn't expect that you'd be leaving me here all alone so soon."

            "You know what, Knives?  Do whatever the hell you want.  I don't give a damn anymore.  But I'm not going to sit here and listen to this shit."

           He's gone before I can say another word.  I wait a few minutes, until I'm sure he's gone and lay down, finally cover myself with the sheet.  He says he doesn't give a damn but I know he does.  I know that the only reason he left me here is because he knows I don't have the physical strength to try to leave again.  Nonetheless I consider this a victory.  I breathe deeply.  Yes, I'm beginning to feel like myself again.

I'm awake shortly after dawn, when the cave begins to show the first hints of light.  It's still hours before he returns.

I make the bed, surprised at how stiff my joints are, but in general moving smoothly again.  I think I'm even beginning to regain some of the feeling in my left leg, I can swear that when I move I feel pain in the knee, fleeting but there.  I don't think it's just wishful thinking.  

It doesn't take me long to straighten my side of the cave.   I've brushed the sand away from the bed, spread my sheet over it.  I get the water bowl and set it on the bed beside me.  It's nearly empty but it will do.  I find a cloth in Vash's bag (am mildly amused that he left so quickly he has forgotten it) and soak it in the water.  I begin washing it over my arms and torso.  The water feels good, cool.  As the sweat and grime rinses from my body I begin to feel even more myself.

It's a bright and clear day, and the wind that blows in past the curtain is coming from the north, slightly cooler than a southern breeze.  It's midmorning and Vash still isn't back, so I pull his bag up beside me, going through the contents one by one.  I have to admit that I've been curious about it for some time now, and finally satiating that curiosity makes me feel like a small boy again.

For the most part there is nothing interesting.  A pajama shirt with long sleeves for the cooler nights, a pair of pants that he's obviously had for quite a few years; they are worn in several places.  A comb.  That makes me laugh.  I've been living with him for several days now and still have yet to see him get ready in the morning; he's always gone before I wake up.  I can remember though, when we were young, how he would spend close to an hour in front of the mirror in the mornings, determined to make his hair stand up the way that Rem had that first day, not wanting to ask for help.  And he wondered why we all thought he was a mamma's boy. 

At the bottom of the bag is a gun.  That surprises me.  That he would leave me here with any type of weapon seems quite irresponsible on his part.  It's a revolver, an old one from the looks of it.  Twenty-two.  Not very powerful, but you don't need power if you know where to aim.  I open the cylinder.  No bullets.   I search through the bag hoping that I might find some there, but he's smarter than that.  On closer inspection I realize that the hammer is bent.  I look down the line of it.  No wonder he was stupid enough to leave it.  It won't fire.  With a little work, however, it does have some promise.  I tuck it into the niche between my bed and the wall for safe keeping. 

The item that pleases me most, however, is a book.  Project Gallactica.  The cover is worn, the colors on the front faded.  He's had this for years.  Books like this are hard to come by on this planet.  This came from a ship.  I flip it over, read the summary on the back. 

Xeno Wright has spent the past ten years traveling from world to world as an interplanetary delegate for Earth's Project Gallactica.  Until he comes into contact with the rasandas, an alien race who doesn't seem to understand the meaning of the word "peace".  While a rescue team is assembled, Xeno must find a way to stay alive, and in the process try to prevent an interplanetary war.

I put the other contents back into the bag and throw it to his bed.  It misses, bounces off and lands on the floor.  I don't care, I make no effort to hide that I've gone through it.  I lie back on the bed and begin to read.

I've made it through sixty pages by the time he returns.  I hear the sound of the curtain moving in the back of my mind, though it takes me a second to recognize it.  When I finally look away from the page he's standing there, glaring at me.  He's been drinking.  If smell is any indication, a lot.

He lies on his own bed.  "Can you be careful with that?"

I would have expected him to return feeling better, calmer, but if anything he sounds angrier than he was when he left. 

"Of course.  I know how valuable an object like this is."

He covers his eyes with his arm.  I return to my book.

By the time I've read three more pages he's snoring quietly.  He's still sleeping when I'm halfway through the book an hour or so later.  I can hear the sound of an engine from quite a ways off.  I wonder if he's even going to wake up for it.  Things could get interesting if he doesn't. 

I lay the book beside me on the bed, sit up, trying not to make noise at first then realizing that the engine will wake him up before I do.  I put my feet on the ground and am about to stand when he sits straight up.  "Where do you think you're going?"

"I was just going to go greet our guests."

He squints as he looks towards the entrance, blinks his eyes a few times in a way that implies his drunk is going to turn into one hell of a hangover quite soon. 

The engine stops quite a few yards from the entrance.  What I wouldn't give to see his face right now, or the look on the girl's as she sees his anger.

He says nothing until the engine is completely silent.  Even the wind is quiet today.  When he speaks it carries. 

"You know, I have this really distinct memory of telling both of you never to come here."