Lying there with his face buried in his arms, like some sort of innocent child.
And you look at that rock.
I mean, really look at it.
Suddenly, its a hundred years ago, and his face is much, much younger, but that rock still slips from your fingers…
You hate him, you know.
You don't even have to tell him that.
Because you know he knows.
He can see it in your smile.
He can taste it in your laughter.
You hold him and you bandage him and you tell him that you love him and you hate his every breath because it's coming from his lungs.
You hate him for being so like you, and being so different.
You hate him for being so selfish, and so dark, and so cold.
For being alive.
Alive, when…
Alive.
He was alive, once.
Hell, you were alive, once.
But only for those few precious seconds.
…Whenever those tiny bits of metal slid with oiled grace from that silver shaft, you could taste your life in that spent powder.
It was raw and gritty and just and final.
And…
You felt your life in the heat of his hands, in the sound of his voice as he whispered your name, in the agony that was his beauty as he wrapped himself around you…
And it was raw and gritty and sweet and endless.
In that instant, it was painful.
In that instant, you loved him.
Because love is painful, and terrible, and it rakes it's nails down your back as it cries out against the palm of your hand, leaving little teeth marks and a sense of belonging…
And that is why we both know sometimes painful is good.
'You were always smiling, real friendly like, but the way you smiled was so empty it hurt to watch you.'
Sometimes it takes a lot to do it,
To get up, and walk, without the coat on.
Isn't it?
He asked you once if you ever got hot under that jacket.
You told him it wasn't anything to be concerned about.
He was always concerned about you.
I worry about you now, and I think that it's a good thing, because if I don't, then no one will.
This is ridiculous, you know.
You're actually quite capable of caring for yourself.
'Don't look at me like that.'
Why don't you put it back on? Oh, because you know what it means.
Vash the Stampede cannot die, you know this.
He was never real; a mask, an illusion, smoke and mirrors and a desert mirage brought on by too little sleep and too much vodka.
You really do drink too much.
"Vash?"
You don't answer him right away, because you like to pretend you're lost in though.
In truth, you just like making him wait, because it makes that little knot in your chest twitch in a way that's almost satisfying.
"Yes."
It's always funny how you can make questions sound like statements.
'I'm sorry, I shouldn't have---'
'You wanted to.'
'I'll do this thing, because you've asked me to, but in return, will you do something for me.'
'All I'm saying is that we're going to have to make a few sacrifices…'
'And I'm one of the few!'
'…You did want to. Didn't you.'
You made him think you were angry when he kissed you that first time. It was a simple brush of lips against hair as he wrapped his jacket around you. You had fallen into that well and gotten your coat soaked, and the night had been too cold as it dried…
'Won't you get cold?'
'…My faith keeps me warm.'
He always smiled when he spoke about religion.
He also smiled when he spoke about you, but the smile was different.
The corners were tighter, and his eyes darkened a little.
But somehow that always made it more genuine.
Or something.
And you pushed him again, and he took it silently, smoking on that mangled cigarette as he stared at the dusty tops of his yellowed leather shoes.
'Hey, don't make fun of the shoes; they were expensive.'
'I thought you gave all your earnings to the poor?'
'…They were also stolen.'
The second kiss, which was really the first, came much later in the belly of a metal beast as you both struggled to not say all of the things that you meant.
You realized he tasted like smoke and mirrors, both an illusion and a mystery, like stale water and the cool of a spent shell that you bite in your teeth as you slam a new one into the chamber.
It was that taste that made you alive.
"Vash… Don't you miss them?"
Miss whom?
The people he killed, or the people you killed?
And you can see another face floating in your mind's eye now.
A little boy staring back at you through a man's eyes, begging for a chance to be redeemed.
Like maybe if you pull the trigger it will justify the way he was, as though he were wrong only to make a foil for you, so that you could remember how good you truly can be…
Or maybe he just wanted to die, but you've convinced yourself otherwise by now, and there's no reason to change that.
Only, if that were true, then you and I wouldn't be having this conversation, now would we?
You look at your brother now, and see those two other men looking back through his eyes. Nichey's devotion and his courage, and Legato's hurt and misplaced sense of betrayal.
And maybe you don't hate him after all.
"Yeah, I miss them."
"…Maybe you should go and see them. And… Talk to them…"
He whispered it to you, time after time, when he thought you were asleep.
And you always lay there, very still, and never said a word.
Don't you think you at least owed him that one comfort? You made a whore of that priest, and he let you do it. He let you do it because he loved you, and you never even told him that you liked him quite a bit yourself.
He made you feel all right. He didn't make you feel safe, or warm, or fuzzy, or any of that crap, but he did make you feel… Acceptable.
A comfort zone, you think. A place to regroup, reload and reassess. And now he's gone.
Dead because you asked him to.
'When all this is over, and I'm dead… Don't ever shoot anyone again…'
Who were you to ask something like that of someone like him?
How were you supposed to know that he would understand what you meant?
You both knew you'd already been dead for a long, long time, so that when it came time for him to fire, he would be obligated not to. You ruined him, and for what? For your truth? Your truth was never his truth, and who were you to pretend it was?
'It's right there, next to you, so go on and use it!'
But in the end, your two truths coincided. He saved you, and you murdered him. A fair exchange, I think.
Oh, there you go again. What would he say if he could see you now? He'd tell you that crying was soothing, and that it was a true sign of character… And then he'd tell you to stop acting like a girl and grow the hell up.
And you know it, so cut it out.
'May God Go With You… For none of us will…"
He gets it, you know. Even though you never said.
Legato gets it, too, although I don't think Knives ever will.
But that's okay, because you don't really get it, either.
Do you?
I mean, this whole time, who did you think you were talking to?
And this whole journey, who did you think you were walking to?
You can make this very simple, or you can make it very hard.
One way to live is to bite the bullet, if you pardon the pun, and to taste the quickening of your blood in spent air cycled through a six-chambered shaft.
The other involves a lot of ghosts and words that were never whispered, but rather screamed in silence for all the world to read.
Yeah, I thought you'd say that.
I'm not going anywhere, you know.
But I guess that's okay, because neither are you.
You missed the boat, but not the point.
And that's okay.
Just as long as you realize the difference.
It takes a lot to carry on without that coat on, but it's worth it in the end.
You may not have religion, but you've got faith to keep you warm.
Or something.
Once upon the time, there were two little boys.
One loved.
One didn't.
One lost.
One didn't.
One hated.
One didn't.
One is all right now.
One's getting there.
So this time, you can smile at his gravestone, and it's genuine.
"Sometimes it seems like love
is just a fancy word for compromise
you gotta read between the years
you gotta write between the lines
you gotta try to understand
the grandness of the man behind the petty crimes
and let him off easy sometimes
I have only just met
an old, old friend
we've been walking around holding hands
I hope some day he can bend
as far as it takes to understand
and risk breaking open again
He caresses every bottle
like it's the first one he's had
saying
it ain't love
but it ain't bad
it's the only reward
bestowed upon me
and I have served faithfully…"
