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Earth to Earth	By : Ravenclaw42 Category: +S to Z > Trigun Views: 2957 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Trigun, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
The Amazing Universal Disclaimer: Don’t own it. Won’t own it. Can’t own it. The end.

Author’s Note: Consists of four conversations in real time. And a nod to Babylon 5 for the title.

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Chapter Seven: Intersections in Real Time
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“There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of toast and tea.”
-- from “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” by T.S. Eliot

“'Speak to me. Why do you never speak? Speak.’”
-- from The Waste Land (II: A Game of Chess) by T.S. Eliot

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“Is he speaking yet?”

Vash sighed at Natalie’s question, picking at his food despondently. She slid the door shut behind her and sat down on the other side of the small table, watching the blond closely. They were in Vash’s room -- Meryl had moved to her own room after Vash recovered well enough not to need a 24-hour watch.

“He’s moving more,” Vash offered eventually, taking a bite and barely chewing before swallowing with a grimace. Natalie had never seen him so unenthusiastic about food, and it bothered her.

“Wasn’t what I asked,” she said quietly.

“I know,” he replied.

They sat in silence for a while.

“He talks to me,” Vash said finally. “Sister-speak. I can’t seem to explain vocal cords.”

Natalie looked up from a small burn that scarred the table, which she had been studying for the past few minutes.

“He asks me things,” Vash mumbled, staring at his plate. “About himself. I can’t answer him.”

Natalie gave him a level look. “Why not? Wouldn’t it put him at ease? It’d be worse to let him worry himself into madness.” Again, she added inwardly.

“I don’t know,” Vash said wearily. “If I told him what he used to be, would he remember it? Would he go back to that? I don’t want that.”

“No one does.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“Because it’s your planet that has to live with us,” Vash said ruefully.

Natalie frowned. “Don’t talk like that, Vash. This world is your home, too. This ship is your home.”

“You wouldn’t think so if you asked around.”

“Not everyone hates you.”

“Wanna bet?”

Natalie huffed and stood up, crossing her arms and imposing the full power of her five-foot-four grandmother-of-three death glare on the cowering gunman. “Vash the Stampede, if you don’t stop wallowing in your own self-pity and start doing some good around here, I swear to all that’s holy I will rip out your complete lack of a spine and stomp on it.”

Vash’s eyes widened and he pulled one of his patented shock-faces. “Whoa, scaryyyy. You don’t have to resort to death threats, ya know!”

Natalie gave a satisfied grunt and sat down again. “Much better. You looked almost normal for a second.” Vash almost smiled at that.

After a minute Vash asked, “How’s Doc?”

Any good feelings Natalie might have managed to bring out were instantly annihilated. She sighed, rubbing her temples with one hand. “Not good, kiddo. You might wanna see him soon.”

“I saw him this morning,” Vash said weakly.

“You might wanna go again,” Natalie said quietly.

Vash let out a soft breath. He’d known since four days ago, but he’d been in denial; Natalie’s words were simply the final nail in the coffin.

“When?” he asked.

“Soon,” Natalie said simply.

“I’ve watched people I love die before,” Vash said, almost defensively.

“He took care of you for his whole life, Vash. It’s okay if this time is different.”

Vash’s lips tightened to a thin, pale line. He said nothing.

Natalie sighed and stared sadly at her toes. “I miss you, Vash. I miss who you used to be. When did you change?”

Still, Vash said nothing.

After a moment longer of silence, Natalie stood. “I have to go. They need me in the med bay. I jus’ wanted to see you, kiddo. You gonna be okay?”

Vash looked away, bit his lip to distract himself from the burning tightness in his throat. “Maybe,” he said finally.

Natalie bent down and hugged him briefly, but his return embrace was weak and he let go much too quickly. The old teacher nodded once, knowingly, and started to the door. “See you in a while, Vash. Don’t forget your little insurance girl -- she’s waiting to talk to you.”

Vash nodded and lifted his hand in a small wave. Natalie sighed and left.

He sat still for a long time, food forgotten, trying not to see his blurry color-block reflection in the battered metal doorframe. (All white shirt and blue jeans and blonde hair. No red. No red at all.) After a while, the burning in his throat went away.

He didn’t cry.

---------

“Hey, bro! ‘S’the old geezer dead yet?”

Michael Jones grimaced and thumped his head on the metal doorframe of the quarters he shared with his aunt Elene and younger brother Tom. (Short for Thomas, and oh how the jokes about farm animals had flown when they were younger.) Michael severely didn’t want to deal with Tom tonight -- but Aunt Elene was taking a shift at one of the surviving Plant sites, so he didn’t have her to protect him from his brother’s jabs.

Michael and Tom suffered from... how to put this nicely?... a rather strained relationship. Maybe that was part of the reason why Michael had been assigned as the Stampede’s doctor. Everyone knew full well that young Mike Jones the intern didn’t have the first clue about normal Plant structure, and the infamous blonde twins were anomalies even to their own species. Natalie-sensei could lie through her teeth better than anyone Michael had ever known when she claimed he was a top-notch med student. How the hell was Michael supposed to keep Vash the Stampede alive and healthy when he couldn’t even keep a houseplant alive for longer than a week?

Which was why he suspected that he’d been given the monumental assignment of caring for the most infamous man on the planet for some reason other than his medical prowess. He suspected that it was because he could relate. He suspected that it was because his brother was as big a bastard as Knives, but on a decidedly smaller scale.

As far as Michael knew, Tom had never killed anyone. But then again, Michael was never quite sure if Tom was joking when he asked Michael for suggestions on where to hide the bodies.

“Mike,” Tom called from the kitchen, “you didn’t bring anything to eat, didja?”

Michael gritted his teeth. “Aunt Elene was supposed to leave something for you to get ready. You know I’m too busy in the med bay to get anything.”

Tom poked his head through the doorway and scowled at his brother. “Elene’s food is crap. I don’t want it.”

“Too bad, you’re gettin’ it anyway,” Michael replied, pushing past his irritating brother into the kitchen. They were only four years apart (making Michael 23 and Tom a great whopping 19), but Tom always acted half his age.

Twenty minutes later the food Elene had left them was ready, although by the time he was done cooking, Michael was so tired he could barely get his jaws apart to eat. Tom took more than his share. Michael didn’t say anything -- he was long used to Tom’s mean-spirited, petty hypocrisy.

“So, you didn’t answer my question,” Tom said, plopping down on Aunt Elene’s nice new chair and leaving Michael with the old one that squeaked and crackled. “Old man kicked the bucket yet or what?”

Michael pressed his lips into a thin line and counted to ten before answering. “He’s critical. It’ll be soon.”

“What’s he got?”

Michael glanced sharply at Tom. “None of your business.”

“It’s contagious, isn’t it?” Tom gave Michael a wide grin. His teeth were too white. “I’ve watched some of the old films they keep restricted, you know, the old Earth movies. The government always keeps the plague secret until everyone’s already dead.”

Michael groaned and rolled his eyes. “You’re a moron, Tom, you know that?”

Tom replied by stealing a bite from Michael’s plate.

Michael ended up letting Tom have most of his dinner, since spending eight straight hours reprogramming the med bay mainframe and enduring the chaos of minor injuries since the crash had kind of dampened his appetite. Wonder why? he thought ruefully. He cleaned up after dinner, wondering as each second passed how on earth he managed not to fall down. Tom slouched in the living area, sulking. That was fine by Michael; sulking meant blessed silence.

“I’m going to bed,” Michael said when the last dish was dried and put away. He didn’t even glance at Tom on his way to the bedroom door.

“Mikey,” Tom said just as Michael palmed the door panel. Michael glanced back into the living area, startled -- Tom hadn’t called him “Mikey” since the good old days of Thomas/tomas bird-brain puns. “Mike, I’ve been thinking.”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Michael replied automatically, then cursed himself for saying it out loud. Old habits died hard, especially between siblings.

Tom shook his head, unamused. “I been thinking, what about this whole thing with the twins, you know? Th’ old geezer’s got two feet in the grave now and no one’s gonna be around to stop the crazy one if he comes out of his coma.”

Coma? Is that the cover story? I didn’t even know, Michael thought nervously. What if I say something wrong...?

“Vash-san can take care of his brother, Tom,” Michael said reassuringly. “And Doc’s leaving us with everything he ever knew about what makes those two tick, so we’ll know how to help.”

“Do you know how to kill them?”

Michael glared, but the expression was mainly cover for the sickening somersault his stomach did at Tom’s brazen question. “Why would we want to? We want to help them.”

“You want to help them,” Tom said, looking directly at his older brother and showing an alarming display of lucidity. “I want to help the ship and the city. What if the Stampede or his crazy bastard brother gets out of hand? Do we know how to protect ourselves?”

Michael took a deep breath. His fear was ice-cold, but he didn’t let it show. “They won’t hurt us, Thomas,” he said coolly.

“But what if, Michael? Think rhetorically for once.”

“I didn’t think you’d even know what rhetorical means, Thomas.”

Tom stood up slowly, eyes ablaze. “What?”

Michael didn’t repeat the insult. “I said they won’t hurt us. Can’t you take my word? I’m your brother.”

“Knives is Vash’s brother, you think Vash takes his word?”

“Actually, I do,” Michael said coldly.

“Then we’re all fucked, aren’t we?” Thomas laughed harshly. “We’re all screwed over seven ways to Sunday because that goddamn broom-headed lunk is willing to take his own genocidal psychopath of a brother’s word.”

Michael was silent for a moment, trying to stop feeling like he was about to throw up. Tom met his gaze and they stared at each other, silent and calculating.

“What’s happened to you, Tom?” Michael asked finally, desperation tainting his voice.

“I’ve grown up,” Thomas said simply.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Silence.

“I’m going out,” Tom said finally, turning away.

Michael sighed, letting his shoulders sag as soon as his brother’s back was turned. “Come back before dawn.”

“Maybe,” Tom said evasively.

Michael was too drained and weary to protest. “Go, then,” he said with cruel finality, leaving his little brother to whatever mad fate he’d devised for himself. “Get outta here.” He slouched into his bedroom and closed the door behind him.

Tom looked back once before he left. “Mikey...” he began softly, almost sadly. But Michael had already shut himself away, and couldn’t hear.

“Goodbye.”

----------

Meryl found Vash five hours after he promised to talk to her, catching a glimpse of him in a hall near the med bay. He was walking stiffly, almost limping. She looked at his legs, worried he’d hurt himself, but there was nothing visibly wrong. She called out his name when he didn’t appear to see her -- he slowed, but didn’t turn around to look for the caller.

She caught up to him within a minute and fell into step at his side. Casting a sideways glance up at his face, she saw that his eyes were somewhat bloodshot -- although they appeared to be dry, which seemed odd, if he’d just been where she thought he’d been...

“How’s the Doctor?” she asked timidly, not quite sure how to approach the subject in her out-of-place state.

Vash slowed down more, allowing Meryl to keep up without having to quick-march to match her short strides to his long ones. Meryl looked up, waiting for an answer.

“He’s dying,” Vash said shortly.

Meryl winced and scrambled to change the subject. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to -- look, Vash, I wanted to talk to you.”

“I know... Natalie came by earlier and reminded me.”

How long ago is “earlier?” Meryl wondered. How long have you been avoiding me? She sighed, rubbing her temple. “Well, I wanted to talk about Knives...”

“Doesn’t everyone?” Vash said ruefully.

Meryl grimaced. “Knives and Milly,” she continued, more than a little irritated now. “How long are you going to let her guard him? I don’t feel safe with only her in there.”

Vash looked down at her for the first time since they’d started talking. “But the other guys are taking shifts, too. Reeves and Brodsky are in there now.”

“I know, I know,” Meryl huffed. “But Milly volunteers for all the night shifts -- she sleeps in the same room as him, dammit! I want her out, Vash. I know you want to help your brother, but please don’t put Milly in danger. Let me take her place, if anything.”

Vash mouthed for a second, at a loss. “Meryl...” he said, dumbfounded and pained beyond comprehension. “Meryl -- he can’t hurt her. He can’t even hurt himself. He doesn’t even know his own name yet. Why’re you so worked up over it?”

Meryl fought back her annoyance and crossed her arms instead of snapping at him like she wanted to. “Maybe the fact that he tried to kill us on multiple occasions doesn’t count for as much as I thought it did,” she said coolly.

Vash’s mouth tightened and he glared for a second. “He’s not like that any more, Meryl,” he said defensively. “He’s changed.”

“He has amnesia. That’s not changing, that’s just a ticking time-bomb waiting for the right trigger to set it off!”

“Is this all you actually wanted to talk to me about?” Vash asked coldly.

“No, actually -- I just wanted to say that you look like hell and you’re acting stranger by the day.” Meryl huffed and uncrossed her arms, letting her clenched fists drop to her sides. She stopped in the middle of the hallway and turned to face the gunman, who obligingly matched her actions. “Something is wrong with you, Vash.”

“Terribly sorry, short stuff, but I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Vash said sarcastically “I’m great. Just peachy.”

Meryl fought back tears of frustration and stomped down hard on the steel floorplates of the hallway. “Vash!” she exclaimed. “Just listen to yourself!”

Vash started to open his mouth for a snappish comeback, but something -- maybe something Meryl said or maybe the desperate undertone in her voice -- made him stop. He hesitated for a second, eyes going unfocused and refocused and unfocused again in a matter of seconds. In the end he slouched, defeated.

“You’re right,” he muttered. “I don’t know what it is. I’m just so tired. Tired of hurting, tired of teaching, tired of watching people die.”

Meryl relaxed her clenched fists and felt the pent-up anger drain out of her at the sight of Vash standing so broken and pathetic in the middle of the old, partly-twisted hallway. If only Knives had known how successful he would be when he set out to make this poor man suffer, Meryl thought, biting her lip and reaching up to pat Vash’s arm.

“How much does the Doctor mean to you?” she asked finally, hoping to get Vash to talk about his hurts. Sharing pain heals.

Vash sighed deeply and cast his blank gaze along the empty hall. “When I first shot Knives, his father was the one who found me collapsed in the desert,” Vash said softly. “Doc was with his dad on his first trip down to the planet’s surface. That was over eighty years ago. He was just a little kid then.”

“He took care of you that whole time?”

Vash nodded. “I spent a long time on this ship. I would leave for maybe a year or two, but I always came back. If I ever had a home, this was it.”

Meryl thought of the way the people of the ship-city were treating Vash now and her guts twisted painfully.

“Doc was the one who kept designing and redesigning my new arm,” Vash added, flexing his mechanical fingers thoughtlessly. “It was his search team that found me half-dead just outside the ruins of July. Doc was the only one familiar enough with my body to be able to salvage what was left of my arm and bring me back to life.”

Meryl listened silently, hardly daring to breathe, much less interrupt.

Vash looked down at her and smiled sadly. “Doc devoted his life to saving mine. How am I supposed to live forever with that kind of love haunting me?”

“Oh, Vash,” Meryl sighed. She looked down, swallowed hard against her tears, and thought. Finally she said, “I think you should be with him when he goes. That would pay back at least a little of the debt, right?”

Vash flinched visibly at her words. “I know I should, but... am I weak if it hurts too much to do it?”

Meryl frowned. “Vash, doing the right thing has never hurt too much for you to do it. What’s wrong?”

Vash shrugged weakly. “My mind, it’s... working with Knives is wearing on me. I just don’t feel like myself.” He sighed and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I’ll stay with Doc,” he said quietly. “I have to.”

Meryl felt cruel for suggesting it, but now the deed was done and she couldn’t take back her words. Besides, it really was the right thing to do... no matter how much it agony it caused.

“You should get some rest,” Meryl said finally. “You look terrible.”

“Thanks a lot,” Vash muttered.

Meryl made a face. “I’ll check on Milly... it’s time for her shift with Knives anyway.”

Vash glanced down at the short insurance agent. “You still worked up about that?”

“Maybe, but it can wait,” she replied shortly. “Go to bed.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He gave her a mocking salute and walked off.

Meryl shook her head, watching him go.

---------

The little black cat had been following Jessica for an hour now. It would twine around her legs at just the right moments to nearly make her trip, and it was starting to get on her last nerve. At the moment she was carrying two dangerously full bowls of hot soup, and if the cat were to finally succeed in its mission to trip her... well...

“Shoo!” she hissed at it. “If you make me drop this, I swear I’ll -- I’ll -- pull your tail!”

The cat nyaoed loudly and got out from between her legs like a bolt of lightning. It looked balefully up at her from the side of the hall.

Jessica rolled her eyes. “Fine, you can follow me, just stop getting in my way. Whose are you, anyway?”

Of course she got no answer from the cat, so she let it go.

Mere moments later she reached the room she was heading for and tapped the door carefully with her foot, so as not to let go of the bowls. The door slid open almost instantly.

The cheery, broadly-smiling face of Milly Thompson greeted her. “Hallo! What brings you here, Jessica?”

Jessica smiled back, trying not to look at the other occupant of the room, who was staring at her. “Vicky-san sent me with food for you and... him. She’s working double shifts in the kitchen now. And there’s pudding in my pocket, if you’ll take these...”

Milly’s eyes sparkled as she took the bowls from Jessica and set them down on the table. “Oh, wow, they found some?” she asked.

“In the very back cold-storage pantry,” Jessica grinned. “They had to do some excavating to get the door open, but everything in there was time-sealed and fresh. It’s perfect -- we won’t have to trade with another town for months.” She pulled two chilled pudding cups out of her deep apron pockets. “There’s loads more if you want to go down to the kitchen sometime.”

“This is perfect, Jess! Thank you!” Milly gave her a one-armed hug and smiled brightly.

Jessica shook her head, laughing. She’d really never known anyone with such an indomitable spirit -- even Vash (though she hated to admit it) was obviously showing the strain of having so much pressure on him at once.

“Have you eaten?” Milly asked suddenly, looking mildly concerned.

Jessica nodded. “I don’t have anything to do, though, so I thought I’d stay and have dessert with you.” She produced a third pudding cup and several spoons from a second pocket hidden in the folds of her apron.

“Oh, of course!” Milly leaned towards Jessica and spoke in a low, confidential tone: “Not to be mean to Mr. Vash’s brother, but you’re much better company than him.”

Jessica giggled. “I’ll bet.” She finally dared a glance at Knives -- he was staring at the wall now, sitting up cross-legged in bed with his hospital shirt falling off of one shoulder. His hair was uncut and shaggy. “You know, I didn’t think a serial-killing maniac could look so undignified,” she said, snickering.

Milly just smiled and started on her soup. “I’ll let his cool down first,” she said by unnecessary way of explanation.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, until Jessica put down her empty pudding cup and took a deep breath. “Ms. Milly?”

“What is it, Jess?”

Jessica turned to look at Knives again -- his cold blue eyes were blessedly closed. “How’s he doing? I mean, really?”

Milly shrugged, also turning to look at him. “Fine, I suppose. He’s healing. And Mr. Vash is teaching him things, so...”

“Teaching him what?” Jessica asked quietly.

“Normal things... how to talk, how to eat.”

“What if... what if he remembers who he is?”

Milly looked troubled, although her voice was still light and cheerful. “Well, he’ll just be himself again, won’t he? Everyone should be themselves.”

Knives opened his eyes then, and turned to look at them. Jessica shivered, wrapped her arms around herself and hunkered down as if to hide. “But what if... what if things go back to how they used to be?” She asked this more of Knives than of Milly, staring straight into his icy gaze as she spoke. “What if he remembers how to hate?”

Milly bit her lip for a second, then stood up and set her half-empty bowl down. Picking up Knives’ dinner and a new spoon, she went to sit on the bed next to him. He looked over at her blankly.

“I think,” said Milly, fiddling with the spoon, “that when it comes time, Mr. Vash will probably leave with him, and we won’t have to worry about it. Mr. Vash never likes to make other people worry.”

Jessica shivered again. “If they leave, will you follow them?”

Milly thought for a second. “Yes,” she said finally. “I have to. I love them.”

“Even him?” Jessica nodded at Knives.

Milly smiled softly -- almost sadly, although the expression was so strange on her that Jessica hardly believed it. “It’s not that simple.”

Jessica was silent. Milly turned towards Knives at last, nudging his face around so she could talk to him and have access to his mouth. “Now, Mr. Knives, it’s time for dinner,” she said softly. Jessica was reminded of nurses tending the invalids and elderly in the med bay. She looked away from the undignified scene while Milly kept whispering gently.

Finally the soup was gone and Milly stopped talking. She put the bowl down and moved to stand up, but Knives leaned his forehead against her shoulder in an obvious request for her to stay.

“Mr. Vash really is teaching you, isn’t he?” Milly smiled, running her fingers through Knives’ uncut hair and patting his back. Knives sighed deeply and closed his eyes.

Jessica watched the two, torn between being horrified, dumbfounded, and strangely happy. Does she know everything that man has done? Jessica thought, staring. Doesn’t she realize that she’s comforting a murderer? How can she be so kind after... after... (don’t think the name, don’t think Brad)...

But that wasn’t true -- because right now, Knives wasn’t a murderer or a madman. He was a blank slate, an empty shell with only enough knowledge to eat, sleep, and take comfort from a kind hand. He was pathetic. And all of a sudden, Jessica found herself pitying him.

“It’s all right, Mr. Knives,” Milly said kindly. “You can go to sleep now.”

He pressed against her harder. She sighed, rolling her eyes, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He relaxed. (Why does he crave human touch so much? Jessica wondered. I thought he hated humans...)

“Shh...” Milly hummed to him, like she would hum to a baby or a very old man.

Jessica’s eyes widened slightly as she realized something: If he does remember who he used to be, will the knowledge of this kindness help him fight it? Is that why Milly’s doing this? To save him, like Vash wants to?

Knives was drifting off now, slumping down further against Milly’s side, eyes squeezed tightly shut. She stopped humming to lower his head to the pillow. Like a mother or a big sister, she straightened the crooked shoulder of his shirt before pulling the blanket up around his chin. Still smiling, of course... as always.

Just before he drifted off completely, though, Knives opened one eye a fraction and parted his lips. Milly leaned down to pat his head reassuringly. “Now now, go to sleep,” she said cheerily, not paying attention to the way his lips moved.

Jessica noticed, though; she stood and walked over to Milly’s side slowly. Knives’ lips were still moving. “Milly,” she said quietly, “I think he’s trying to talk.”

Milly’s smile faltered. “Oh... I think you’re right...” She knelt down at Knives’ side to listen. “Can you speak any louder?” she asked futilely, knowing Knives couldn’t really understand her.

His eyes closed again, but his lips moved one last time. Jessica managed to read them.

“Milly,” Jessica said hollowly.

Milly looked up from Knives’ sleeping figure. “What is it, Jess?”

“He was asking you something.”

“What did he say?”

“‘Who am I?’”

--------------
“Through the years you've always loved me
And my life you've tried to save...

...Throw your loving arms around me
I am weary, let me rest.”

--“I Am Weary (Let Me Rest),” traditional
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Earth to Earth