Chapter Text
The first of the twin suns was near to dipping behind the red-rock mountains. The desert was dyed all golden where it wasn’t yet cast in shadow. Endless dunes and clusters of mesas only yesterday gave way to wide valleys scattered with boulders and stands of wind-worn sandstone, striped iron-red and creamy yellow. The view might be beautiful, but right then Nicholas couldn’t care less. The last time he’d been out this way, it had been halfway through No Man’s Land’s tepid winter, cool enough to wear a coat and not sweat through his shirt by noon. It was spring now, and the day was hot enough he was probably sweating straight through his jacket.
Meryl and Milly were looking moderately less flushed and sweaty up on their tomas, at least from where he was standing. He’d given up on walking in the shadows the creatures and their riders cast quickly enough. The dust they kicked up settled over him in a fine layer, quickly turning into thin, gritty mud where it mixed with sweat. The small reprieve their shade gave wasn’t worth the extra water token he’d use washing sticky mud from every crease on his body. Town wasn’t much further. The second they found somewhere to stay, he could take a cold shower and wash away the grime. Maybe pool some money with Vash if there was a laundromat, have the luxury of clean shirts and underwear for a few days. An arm dropped around his shoulders pulled Nicholas from his daydream of falling asleep in clean sheets and waking up to clean clothes.
“Just one sip, one tiny little sip, you won’t even miss it, I promise,” said Vash, sweet as anything, as though this wasn’t his fifth time asking in as many minutes. He wore a pathetic, hangdog expression that paired well with being a little red-faced from the heat of the day. It might have worked if Nicholas didn’t know better.
“I know what your tiny sips are like, asshole,” he shot back.
Vash leaned heavily on him, pouting dramatically.
“That was one time!” Vash whined, “Will you never forgive and forget?”
“How could I forget you drinking our entire remaining water supply in one freakishly large gulp when we were hours from anywhere?!” said Nicholas. The argument was an old one, any real irritation long worn out.
“A GULP!” Vash shrieked in mock offence, “It was a perfectly reasonable sip, thank you very much!”
“You unhinged your jaw like a snake,” Nicholas jammed an accusing finger at his chest.
Vash squawked indignantly.
“Have you ever seen a snake Meryl?” said Milly, sounding rather amused, “There were a few back home, rattlesnakes, Mama always called them.”
“There were some snakes at that water station near May City,” said Meryl.
“Those weren’t snakes,” said Nicholas, “Not proper snakes anyway.”
“Mmhm, he’s right Meryl, those were native. They had little tiny legs, remember?” said Milly, turning around in her seat. Her tomas chirped and shook its tail at the disturbance.
“Sand snakes, not real snakes,” grumbled Meryl, “Who cares? They were long and they slithered.”
Vash giggled, keeping his lanky flesh arm easy around Nicholas’s shoulders. It was a real laugh, crinkling the corners of his eyes up tight in a way his fake laughs never could. The hot leather of his sleeve stuck pleasantly to the back of Nicholas’s neck.
“I remember they tasted pretty good,” said Nicholas. The four of them fried up what sand snakes they’d been able to catch in a borrowed wok over a fire. They were milder than gamey worm meat, and paired decently with flatbread and some preserved chilies.
Meryl hummed in agreement, high praise from her where eating native species was concerned.
“One of the better ways I’ve had ‘em,” said Vash, sounding slightly wistful.
“Hey, big girl, you and your family ever eat any of those rattlesnakes?” said Nicholas.
Nicholas had been warned about rattlesnakes in a few areas, but never seen one. They were one of the Earth species packed away on the big ships that managed to survive the fall and the harsh landscape both. Like the little blue-black lizards he remembered seeing as a child, or the scraggly coyotes that lived in the canyons near May. Like humans themselves.
Milly turned her big, earnest eyes on him, “Oh we sure did! They were a real problem for a few years, too many breeding too fast ‘til all the local families started hunting them. You’ll die if they bite you, but little big sister was an expert at shooting them if we ever came across one, and well, might as well eat them if you’ve used a bullet on them,” she said brightly.
“How’d they taste?” said Nicholas.
“Hmm, like chicken I suppose, but chewier,” said Milly.
Meryl made a skeptical noise.
Vash hummed thoughtfully, “I had some once, years ago. It was really chewy! Dried my mouth right out.” He caught Nicholas’s eye and gazed pleadingly over the rims of his orange sunglasses.
Nicholas glared, scanning Vash’s overwrought pathetic face, playing along with the game. he roots of Vash’s hair were dark with sweat, and the haphazard spikes were in the process of collapsing. His lips were dry and chapped, and a flush spread unevenly across his cheeks. Sun-warm and happy was a good look on him. Nicholas tore his eyes away before he could be caught staring.
“Don’t try it,” said Nicholas, failing to fully bite back a grin.
Vash threw his arms in the air, painfully separating leather from Nicholas’s neck.
“But Woooooolfwooooooood! I’m soooooooooo thirsty!” he wailed, before throwing himself to his knees directly in Nicholas’s path.
Milly had the gall to laugh at his plight.
“Oh you’re in trouble now Mr. Wolfwood!” she said with bubbly delight, not bothering to slow her tomas.
“Don’t look at me,” said Meryl, when Wolfwood caught her eye, “He’s your friend.”
Vash fluttered his eyelashes behind his glasses. “Father, will you not give charity to one of God’s children, please oh please?”
Goddamn it. Nicholas struggled to keep from smiling. He was a soft touch to Vash at any time, even when he was being a pain for fun. Sparing a glance down the road, Nicholas gauged how much distance was left to town. About fifteen minutes to his eye, maybe another five to find somewhere with food, beds, and water.
“Fine,” said Nicholas. Before he could so much as reach for his canteen, Vash was pumping his fists in celebration and dancing to his feet. Vash reached for the canteen the moment it was free from Nicholas’s inner pocket, but Nicholas pulled it out of his reach before he could grab it.
“Hey,” Nicholas pulled down his sunglasses, looking Vash right in his pretty, stupidly blue eyes, “One. Sip. Only.”
“One sip, I promise,” said Vash, “A reasonable sized sip.”
Nicholas let him snatch the canteen as he scrambled to his feet. The moment Vash wrestled the lid off the thing, he got a big dumb grin on his face, and Nicholas knew what was going to happen. Sure enough, Vash tilted his head back and downed the rest of the water in one loud, wet gulp.
“Oops,” Vash said, rubbing the back of his neck like he was embarrassed, “Guess I was thirsty.”
“You shit!” Nicholas lunged at him, but Vash was already playfully dancing away. He only picked up speed as Nicholas gave chase, damn his sore feet.
“I’ll buy you dinner! I swear!” Vash called over his shoulder as he ran away. Anything else he was about to say was lost in the impact of Nicholas full-body tackling him into the sand.
They rolled into town a few minutes after Meryl and Milly, covered in dust with sand sunk deep in every crevice. The town was a small thing, little more than a stopping place on the road between New Oregon and New Jericho, one of half a dozen just like it. The road led through blocky sandstone buildings to a central plaza with a dry fountain and whitewashed benches. Two familiar-looking tomas were tied up outside a long two-storey building that screamed local drinking establishment. Perfect. Vash steered them towards the doors under a sun-faded sign that probably read saloon at some point. A newer addition hung from it, advertising rooms to rent.
“Good work girls,” Nicholas muttered to himself. The scent of something savoury was drifting out the open windows, making him intensely aware of how empty his belly was. Food first, then getting as clean as the desert would allow.
Vash held open the double doors for him without saying anything, his sharp eyes quickly scanned the bar. Nicholas did the same, more out of habit than anything. A handful of people were scattered around. Mostly locals by the look of things, a few clusters of travellers among them. No wall of wanted posters, no sheriffs or bounty hunters armed to the teeth, or other troublesome types. He relaxed fractionally. This probably wouldn’t turn into a shootout, provided no one recognized Vash. His eye settled on Meryl’s white if slightly dusty, jacket. Meryl practically glowed where she and Milly leaned against the bar. Milly glanced over to them at the bell above the door’s chime and waved cheerfully.
“Here’s our friends now!” she told the middle-aged man behind the bar counter.
Meryl gave them a critical once over, taking in the head-to-toe dust on them both. “Did you two start swimming through the sand like a pair of worms?” she said, arching an eyebrow.
“His fault-” Vash said with a shrug at the same time as Nicholas said,
“Easy, shorty,”
Meryl flattened her lips into a thin line, not quite managing to hide an amused twitch at the corner of her mouth. “Is there a laundry in town, sir?” she said to the barkeep.
“There sure is, Two streets over,” he gestured in the vague direction, “Blue shutters. I’d try and get there quick if I were you boys, there’s a caravan due in an hour or so that’s likely to all try and wash their things at once. Same reason I can only offer you all two rooms, as I was saying to your companions here. Most are reserved in advance already.”
Nicholas caught Vash’s eye and shrugged. Separate rooms were a luxury unless they were flush, which they weren’t. Vash nodded, a quick dip of his sharp chin.
“You got running water?” asked Nicholas.
“Shared facilities at the ends of the hall. You’ll need tokens for a shower if you want one,” the man said, drawing a snort from Milly.
“We’ll take it!” said Vash, before even hearing how much a room was. Idiot.
The man nodded, pleased. “Fifty for the night, Sixty and you get dinner and breakfast. Tokens are five for five minutes if you want hot, three for five if you’re fine with cold.”
“Meals and two cold water tokens each?” Vash leaned his sandy head towards Nicholas, dislodging a trickle of sand as his hair shifted.
Not bad for two meals and a bed. Nicholas nodded and pulled a handful of bills from his inner pocket, “Half and half? Just remember you owe me dinner when we hit the next place,’ he said, glancing at Vash for confirmation.
“I solemnly promise to buy you the medium-est priced dinner the place has to offer,” Vash said, hand over his heart.
With the cash in hand, the barkeep produced two scratched brass keys. “Rooms fourteen and fifteen are yours. Dinner should be ready in ten minutes or so. Chilli with rice and two kinds of beans. It’s my wife’s specialty, I promise you’ll love it!”
Nicholas dumped the punisher and his bag in the small room, as Vash did the same. It was obviously old, with worn imitation wood floors and somewhat a faded, somewhat threadbare blanket on the bed, but cozy and clean aside from the puffs of dust their bags left on the floor. The red painted shutters were closed against the suns, leaving the room pleasantly cool. Vash started opening every drawer in the place, finding a yellowed bible and an ancient, dried-out pen. Mostly out of habit, Nicholas flipped up the mattress, humming in satisfaction when he found no sign of worm holes or bedbugs.
“Gonna go wash my face,” Nicholas muttered, fishing in his pockets for a cigarette.
“I’ll join you,” said Vash, sounding faintly tired. Even in the dim light, Nicholas could see some of the flush on his cheeks and nose darkening to a burn. He reached out and poked the pink skin, earning a wince from Vash.
“Your skin’s too delicate, I keep telling you to wear a hat,” said Nicholas, as Vash gently batted his hand away.
“Hats don’t look good on me,” said Vash, stepping around him to the door, “Plus I always lose them.”
“Keep burning then,” grunted Nicholas, to which Vash huffed a laugh. Nicholas followed him down the narrow hallway, biting down gently on an unlit cigarette.
The bathroom was similarly clean but worn. There was chalky hard water crust on the faucet and shower head, and scratches on the mirror. The water the sink spat out was blissfully cold. Nicholas shook out his hair and washed his face and hands until the water ran clean, rubbed himself dry with a thin towel from a shelf over the sink. Now that he wasn’t walking with a heavy load on his shoulders he could feel the soreness of his feet, the ever-present ache in his back. His shoulder holster was sitting uncomfortably, and he rolled his shoulders and neck while he watched Vash splash water over his face and the strip of red skin at the back of his neck. Vash groaned happily at the cold, holding his prosthetic hand under the stream until it cooled off. He shoved the cool hand under the high neck of his shirt and made a happy little chirp as he held it there. A droplet rolled down the corner of Vash’s jaw, and Nicholas shifted his eyes to the token machine in the shower.
“You wanna try and find some aloe or something after we eat? Place this size has to have a drugstore or apothecary,” Nicholas said conversationally, as he studied Vash’s darkening sunburn.
“I’ll be fine,” said Vash, playing nonchalant and hiding his face in another handful of cold water.
“Spikey,” said Nicholas, trying to use the same firm tone Meryl used when she was disappointed in them, “I’m low on rolling paper anyways, and the shorty needs something for her monthlies, it’s no trouble if you need something too.”
Vash hesitated, guilt flickering behind his eyes. It hurt to look at him sometimes when the sorrow he carried made itself known, but Nicholas kept his gaze.
“Fine,” Vash said simply, without forcing himself to smile or change the subject.
That gesture alone was more the Nicholas deserved or expected. His insides twisted. He hated the way Vash’s trust made something soft and yearning grow its roots further in him.
Vash leaned over the sink, watching Nicholas through the mirror. Water dripped the tip of his nose, and clung to the tips of his hair.
“We’re doing laundry first,” Vash said after a moment, “I’m not waiting hours for a free machine, and you know I hate washing underwear in the sink.”
“Agreed,” said Nicholas. He threw the damp towel at Vash, covering up his hangdog face, “Move it. I haven’t had rice in ages, I wanna try this guy's wife’s cooking.”
They grabbed a table in a corner to wait for food and for the girls to finish feeding and watering their tomas. Nicholas got the barkeep to pour him and Vash each a few fingers of bourbon, kept cool in a cellar. It went down smooth as butter, and burned pleasantly in a way that made Nicholas forget about his aches. It a whiskey for sipping instead of downing in one go to taste as little as possible. Vash sipped his too, slow, savouring it.
“So you are capable of having a reasonable sip,” Nicholas said, leaning lazily back against the wall.
Vash just chuckled and knocked his knee against Nicholas’s. It was his flesh knee, and the too-cool of his skin soaked through the fabric between them. Vash ran at a lower temperature than any human. His skin was always refreshing as a breath of clear night air. Nicholas imagined the touch as a soothing balm spreading from Vash until it soaked all through him.
As Vash brought the glass to his dry lips and let the bourbon settle on his tongue, a lazy smile spread over his face, staying when he swallowed the amber mouthful. The taste lingered in Nicholas’s mouth. Idly, he wondered if Vash’s mouth was cool like his skin, or if he burned hot inside. It was selfish of Nicholas to let his imagination run away with him, but right then with Vash’s warm gaze on him and the tiredness of the day seeping into his bones, he didn’t care as much. He watched Vash’s throat work out of the corner of his eye and let the bourbon coat his mouth.
A young man with a striking resemblance to the barkeep dropped off two steaming bowls of chilli with chewy flatbread, and Nicholas’s hunger took over before he could do something downright idiotic.
The suns dipped behind the mountains as they scarfed down the meal and drank. One of the young things working as servers went around and flung the shutters open, letting in the cool evening air, welcome with the chilli warming him up from inside. The sky was still bright, but the golden late afternoon light was gone, sinking the plaza in blue shadows. The barkeep hadn’t oversold his wife’s cooking, it was spiced well and hearty, the heat of dried chillies balanced well with the rice.
Nicholas found himself at the bottom of the bowl sooner than he would have liked, and he was pleased to see Vash finish his portion as well. Lately, they’d had a run of good luck and had been eating well for a good stretch. Vash was finishing most of his meals too, had been for the last few weeks. It was a relief to see the lines of his face and body looking lean rather than hungry. The sight of Vash looking healthy soothed something fierce and protective within him.
Now relaxed and pleasantly full from a good meal, Nicholas finished the last of his whiskey before plucking a cigarette from where he’d stashed it behind his ear. The familiar taste of tobacco settled into him with the first lungful of smoke. The tension of the day bled out of him. The ache in his back had loosened, Vash’s knee was still against his. All things considered, he was dangerously content to order another drink and waste away the evening right there, laundry be damned.
Vash put out his hand and Nicholas obediently offered him the cigarette, watching as Vash wrapped his chapped lips right where Nicholas’s mouth had been. Sometimes Vash smoked, but he never had a whole one on his own, always electing to share with Nicholas. Not once had Nicholas ever seen Vash do that with anyone else. If Nicholas was in a good mood, it felt special, intimate, something just theirs. If his mood was foul, it felt like he was polluting Vash with all his awful habits. Just then, it felt like a promise to watch Vash lounge with a glass of whiskey in his prosthetic hand and one of Nicholas’s cigarettes between his long fingers.
Meryl crashed onto the bench beside Nicholas, startling him from his calm. She laid her head flat on the table and stretched out like a cat. The cigarette was dropped back between his curled fingers and Vash’s knee shifted away.
“The caravan’s shown up, you two should get moving if you’re still planning on doing laundry,” said Milly, as she collapsed beside Vash, “Oooh you already ate, how was it?”
“Tasty,” said Vash, “Bourbon was good too if you want a drink.”
“Cold too,” said Nicholas.
“Food first,” Meryl said into the table. Nicholas patted her windswept head and earned himself an eye-roll.
Vash pulled himself up and stretched his long arms over his head, groaning as something cracked, “You heard the ladies, let’s head on out,” he said, inclining his head towards the doors.
“Fine, fine, ‘m coming,” Nicholas grumbled, before sucking down the last of the smoke and stubbing out the ashes in his empty bowl.
They hurried back to their room and stripped out of their grimy clothes and into the threadbare tee shirts and shorts that they both kept around to have something to wear while washing everything else. Their shared laundry bag was small, all things considered. Neither he nor Vash had much in the way of changes of clothes. A few changes of shirts and underwear, socks, a handful of worn clothes used exclusively for sleeping and exercising for them each.
Most of Vash’s usual gear couldn’t be thrown in a washing machine anyway, the leather needed a gentle wipe down with a soft cloth and conditioning with whatever oil they’d scrounged up. While Vash sat and cleaned the whole set, Nicholas usually resigned himself to chain smoking and reading the abandoned dime novels or magazines that inevitably made their way to whatever laundromat they ended up in. Sometimes Nicholas cleaned his shoes or mended bullet holes or darned socks, but usually, laundry meant him just sitting with Vash for a few hours while they waited for the machines to finish.
Thankfully, only one machine out of eight was in use when they arrived. With their load washing, Nicholas got to work beating sand and dust out of his suit while Vash started on his leather shirt. The suit was linen, not that Nicholas knew what that meant other than it breathed well, creased like hell and could stand up to him beating the shit out of it. Whatever Earth flora or animal it originally came from couldn’t live here, so the stuff came from a plant like damn near everything else. Once his suit stopped letting off puffs of dust he’d soak it in the big metal sink in the laundromat, scrub it clean and drip-dry it back in the room.
The twilight had turned bruise-purple by the time Nicholas deemed his jacket and trousers clean enough to soak. The laundry was warm inside, still holding the heat of the day. Vash hummed something to himself, an old Earth melody Nicholas only knew because Vash liked it. Working quietly, Vash had a tranquil air about him. This was a side Vash rarely showed, one he rarely had the chance to. That Vash allowed him to see this made Nicholas unbearably tender and as though the lightest touch would knock him down.
The little room was peaceful enough to make his chest ache, even with the facet almost drowning out Vash’s humming. Once the suit was soaking in washing soda and a few inches of hot water, Vash spoke up,
“I saw an apothecary on our way into town,” he wiped a clean stripe down the sleeve of his red coat. His shirt and trousers lay on the counter behind him, supple and shiny with tomas oil.
Nicholas wiped his hands on his thin shorts. He knew a request when he heard one.
“Watch our stuff?”
“Mmhm. We’re almost out of tooth powder,” Vash said, voice soft over the rumble of the washing machines.
“Right, right, right,” said Nicholas, “Anything else?
“Painkillers for Meryl,” Vash said after a moment.
The night air was rapidly cooling, almost enough for Nicholas to wish his shirt had sleeves. He smoked one of his few remaining cigarettes as he meandered through the little town. Warm light poured out the open windows of the saloon, along with the hum of conversation and fuzzy music, something with a guitar and a fast beat. A few stragglers were leaned up near the doors, smoking and chatting. The apothecary was easy enough to find. Now that the night was rolling in, someone had flicked on a green neon sign advertising DRUGS AND TONICS. Nicholas found tooth powder and a tin of something that claimed to have aloe in it easy enough but had to ask the clerk for painkillers from a locked cabinet. When he asked for rolling paper, the clerk, a skinny young guy who barely looked eighteen, looked him up and down.
“We got some joints if you’re interested. Someone in New Oregon managed to get a plant making enough to reach us in the boonies,” the kid said.
God, it had been years since he’d had any. Nicholas thought of his dwindling stack of cash. He also selfishly thought of how nice it might be to smoke with Vash, see him get loose-limbed and giggly. Might also take Meryl’s mind off cramps, or the heat, or whatever pissed her off next.
“How much?” he asked, before sense could catch up to him.
“One for ten, three for twenty-five,” the clerk recited.
Nicholas hissed through his teeth. Steep.
“I mean, you don’t gotta buy it, man,” the kid said with a bored expression that spoke of complete indifference.
“Gimme the papers. And three of those joints,” said Nicholas. Whatever. It was less than a bottle of whiskey by a fair margin. He’d just pick up an extra odd job next time they stopped for longer than a night.
With his pocket considerably lighter, and the net bag Vash insisted he start carrying weighted down, Nicholas made his way back. There was a church on the north side of the plaza, made from the same pale sandstone as everything else. With no crucifix or Christ on the outside, it was likely one of the many protestant ones he couldn’t quite remember the name of. No angels either. Not plant worshippers most likely. Probably the same strain as the big white church in New Jericho he half-remembered. The rest of the memory was unpleasant, best left alone. He turned away his gaze and put the church behind him.
Vash had their load in the dryer by the time he got back, and had moved on to rubbing tomas grease into his now dust-free coat.
“Here,” Nicholas tossed the burn salve right at Vash’s spikey head, only for Vash’s flesh hand to dart up lightning quick to catch it.
“Thanks, Nicholas,” said Vash, with a faint, soft smile, “I’ll save it for after I shower.”
“You’re using it even if I have to pin you down and rub it in myself,” said Nicholas, before he could think better of it. His cheeks heated enough he was certain it showed. Brown skin could hide most blushes, but Vash had keen eyes. Thank God he was facing away from Vash.
From behind him, Vash just snorted and continued working. Nicholas stuck an unlit cigarette between his teeth and got to work rubbing grime out of his suit, until the water was dirty and his face returned to a normal temperature. With his suit wrung out and nothing to do with his hands, he cleaned his shoes with a beat-up brush he found by a yellowing electric iron, followed by a rag Vash produced. Vash wordlessly dropped the greasy cloth soaked through with tomas fat beside him. Nicholas accepted the offering, and worked in the oil until the leather shone real pretty again. The task was enough to keep his mind quiet, and the stone floor was pleasantly cool on his sore feet.
Vash’s huge boots took longer, but with both of them working, all the straps and buckles were clean and shiny by the time a trickle of people from the caravan started arriving with their own bags of dusty clothes. When the drier finished, Nicholas stood shoulder to shoulder with Vash at a free counter to fold their clean clothes up quickly, an easy, familiar part of the routine. With more people around, Vash was doing his usual thing, folding in himself and slouching til he seemed less tall and broad-shouldered.
Once they were outside in the blue twilight, Vash relaxed a little, and started up again humming that same old song and stealing drags from Nicholas’s second to last cigarette. Music drifted down the street from the saloon, mingling with the distant hum of wormsong. Vash always looked holy in the moonlight, and Nicholas let himself look a few times, drink in the smooth planes of his face and the way the light turned his hair pale.
The saloon was busier than when Nicholas passed by earlier, with people sitting at most every open window. One of the double doors slammed right into Nicholas as he went to open it.
“Aagh,” said Nicholas, more out of surprise than anything.
“You all right? Sorry, I didn’t see you.” A short, older woman peered up at him.
“No harm done, ma’am,” Nicholas started saying, but her attention had abandoned him.
“Vash!” she cried, a warm, delighted smile creasing her face pleasantly.
“Marta!” said Vash, just as warmly. It was his real smile, soft and gentle.
The small woman embraced Vash without any hesitation, pulling him down to her height. Vash went easily, hunching over and throwing his arms around her.
“I’m so glad to see you, I’ve been hoping you’d show your face-” the words were muffled by Vash’s shoulder.
“I know, me too, I was hoping to run into you somewhere out here, but I didn’t know where you’d gone, Luida said you weren’t in New Oregon anymore-” said Vash, words pouring out in a rush.
Ah. Nicholas felt his eyes widen. This woman, Marta, was someone from Vash’s home, a transplant from Ship Three. Nicholas took a better look at her. Early forties maybe, some sun damage on her face and hands. Straight, even teeth, something everyone on that ship seemed to have. A pretty, round face creased from frequent smiles, strong nose, brown skin, lighter than his own. A cloud of dark, curly hair shot through with silver making a frizzy halo around her head.
“Oh that’s old news, it’s been about ten years since I left, I’m in Devil’s Garden now, it’s a little place not too far from here,” she said with a soft laugh.
“I missed you,” said Vash, quietly, close to her ear.
“Me too,” she replied, voice sounding thick, “I was hoping to see you again before I got old and grey.”
Vash’s arms tightened around her. Nicholas shuffled his feet awkwardly, tried to look anywhere else. There was something raw and exposed in the tightness of the embrace, the way Vash tucked his face into her shoulder, how she cradled his head.
Nicholas swallowed down a wave of nausea. He shouldn’t be seeing this. He was an intruder here, and he knew it. Halfway through considering how best to make himself scarce, Vash caught his eye, stopping him in his tracks. Vash held his gaze, something sad, almost pleading in his eyes. A sliver of the things Vash kept away from others. For whatever reason, he wanted Nicholas to stay. It made Nicholas want to run, but he never could refuse Vash. He dropped his hand from the door and stared at his feet. In a few moments, Marta released Vash, patting his cheek once before letting him stand back up.
“Marta, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine,” Vash said as he placed his flesh hand between Nicholas’s shoulder blades.
Nicholas switched his bag of wet suit and sundries to his left hand, and offered her his right.
“Nicholas D. Wolfwood, ma’am,” he said, very aware of his threadbare laundry day clothes and the fact that he probably reeked of cigarettes and hadn’t showered in days.
“Marta Torres Batista,” she said. Her hands were warm and calloused, her grip firm, “Me and Vash go way back, I remember when he was only this tall!” she held out a hand at her shoulders, smiling wickedly. The grin brought out crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes, well-worn and warm.
“Marta!” Vash whined, blushing prettily under his sunburn.
“I’ll be,” said Nicholas, a little surprised. To have seen Vash as a child, she'd have to be one of the ones from Earth, woken up from cold sleep for a few years at a time. “I bet you’ve got some stories.”
“You staying here tonight?” Vash cut in, smile gone hollow.
Nicholas studied him. Usually, Vash didn’t change the subject so transparently. Whether it was because the stories were embarrassing or painful, he couldn’t say.
Marta’s face softened, “Yes I am,” she said, “I’m on my way home from New Jericho, planning on taking the last leg tomorrow.”
“Good!” said Vash, the tight, fake smile gone like it was never there, “I want to hear all about what you’ve been up to.”
Marta grinned broadly, and clapped Vash on the shoulder, “Why don’t you two deal with your laundry and get back down here in a few huh? I’ve gotta see to my tomas. Save me a seat if you beat me.”
“Okay!” Vash said brightly, “First round’s on you!”
Nicholas flicked him in the middle of his tender pink forehead. Vash yelped and pouted like a child, and Marta walked away chuckling like she’d just heard a particularly good joke.
Vash lingered in the doorway as she disappeared into the stable, something soft and achingly sad playing on his face.
“Wasn’t sure I’d get to see her again,” Vash said quietly, after a long moment.
Nicholas let the saloon door close, sealing them outside, alone in the growing dark. By then Nicholas considered himself fairly well acquainted with the different types of quiet Vash had. Ones where Vash was happy and content, where he was worn down and too tired to laugh and act ridiculous. The predatory sort of quiet when Vash was paying very close attention to whatever horror was unfolding before them. Then there were ones before he said something so heartrendingly awful it made Nicholas want to swallow down a handful of sand. This was a reflective quiet, and Vash was making the sad sort of grimace he made before smiling like it was killing him.
Nicholas shuffled a half-step closer, into Vash’s space.
“You’re close then?” said Nicholas, voice pitched low. This close, he had to tilt his chin up to look in Vash’s eyes.
“Yeah,” Vash said, with a flicker of a soft smile.
“Good as family?” Nicholas asked.
Vash bobbed his head wordlessly.
“Alright,” said Nicholas. He tried to not think about warm arms, or a toddler’s sticky hand in his, or any of the things he tried not to think about. Raising a hand to the door, he leaned away, out of Vash’s shadow, “Let’s get cleaned up then. Can’t meet your auntie properly if I’m lookin’ like some kind of drifter,” he said.
“Well now, we’re both drifters, but you do clean up nice,” said Vash, that same soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “’Specially if you shave properly for once.”
Nicholas barked a laugh and followed Vash into the warm lights of the bar.