Disclaimers: My cat is beginning to look like Mr. Bigglesworth from, “Austin Powers.” He’s losing his hair. I don’t have the money to take him to a vet. o_O Get the picture? I don’t own Trigun.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Somewhere in time, there is a circle.
Somewhere in time, the circle will be complete.
Somewhere in time, love is forever.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

After nearly wetting myself due to embarrassment, I finally got my clothing back on. Nicholai had allowed me some privacy by kindly turning his back, standing in the corner of the room with his nose shoved into the wall. I’m not normally that embarrassed around other people. I suppose it’s probably due to the fact that I really don’t know anything about him. I don’t know where he came from, and naught about his past. He could have grown up living a sheltered life. What kind of influence would a man like myself have on a man like him, then? I mean, I’m a scarred, mutilated freak of nature living, breathing plant that I doubt he even comprehends. I suppose I’ll find out today, when we finally reach the bar that we seem to be taking forever to find.

I suppose the main reason we’re taking so long is the fact that I’m hobbling along at a fairly slow pace, dragging my injured leg behind me and limping like one of those, “pirate,” characters that I used to read about in some of the books that Rem had on the Seed ship. At least I don’t have a long, itchy beard and a parrot, whatever that is, squawking in my ear about wanting a saltine.

I was unable to put my hair back into its normal ponytail, due to the fact that I seem to have misplaced the tie, and it blows around me in an unfelt wind as I think to myself, my leg sending regular spikes of pain through my body. I realize that I have no idea where my brother is. I suppose all I can do is hope that he’s gone on to the water-refinement factory and started analyzing the problem. It’s really his area of expertise, anyway. There’s nothing he can’t do, when it comes to those things. I would mostly be there for support, and very little help, seeing as how it’s difficult for me to walk properly. Besides, it’s about time I got a vacation. We’ve been traveling around a lot lately. I need a hiatus. He’s probably still mad at me, too. Might even shoot me again. Yeah, it’s best that I just stay away for a while.

Nicholai finally spots the saloon two buildings down, and I mentally rejoice. I don’t think I could have dragged my leg for much longer a distance. It’s a nice-looking building; mainly wood, with dormer windows and an overhang with pillars for support over the deck. Looking down at my feet as I walk, I note sadly that this town is lacking in the lush scenery of so many others. I suppose that, for the fact that it’s fairly new, and their water supply has been dwindling lately, they’re doing very well for themselves. Lying between the harsh desert sand, there are sparse patches of grass here and there. There is one tree, in the very center of the town, where a cobblestone sidewalk has been laid. It’s about fifty feet away, but I can see that it’s doing rather nicely, the leaves on its branches a lush green and the trunk of it looking rather healthy. God, and the source of all of this beauty is my own brother. It’s unbelievable. I really should give him more credit, and be more understanding towards him. I know he has a temper. I shouldn’t push it with him. It’s just that sometimes, it’s hard not to. When he comes to me, berating my every action and being a complete and total, to exercise Nicholai’s phrase, jerk, it tends to exasperate me, and I become irate myself. I suppose that, in more ways than one, we are similar. Not just the way we look, but the way we act. There’s no escaping it. No matter how hard I try, we are brothers in every sense of the word.

We finally arrive at our destination. The wooden porch becomes an annoying hindrance in my step as I attempt to reach my objective of acquiring a heavy alcoholic beverage to numb the pain that is now searing my thigh muscles. In other words, I trip on the first step and fall on my face, scratching it roughly against the rough planks of wood and the sand that coats them, more than likely acquiring a rather substantial amount of splinters. Nicholai hauls me to my feet and allows me to get my feet underneath the body that has handed me over to embarrassment. The traitor…

He pushes open the swinging double doors, his arm still cupped around my back for support, and helps me to limp inside and to the bar. I smile at him as he helps me to sit. Finally, he removes his arm from behind me, sliding his hand lightly over the length of fabric stretched across my back; much more than a friendly gesture, yet not quite intimate. I close my eyes at the thought, forcing myself to embrace a train of thought much less risqué. It’s not a good idea for me to be thinking that way with an injury. I could strain myself.

The bar is clean, and there are only three people here, other than Nicholai and myself. The tender is behind the counter, cleaning a glass with a small rag. He quickly comes to us, asking what we need in a voice that sounds just a bit too high for a man of his height. Shrugging to Nicholai, I inform him that I don’t really care what I drink. I don’t. I’ve tended to avoid alcohol, these days. Meryl used to say that people only drink to drown their sorrows, when they have something to forget. That was truer than she knew back then. Now, though, I avoid drinking so that I can remember. I want to remember Wolfwood, and everything he was to me, and I never want to forget. I haven’t had a single drink since his death, scared that if I drown myself in alcohol, I will never awake from the haze of drunkenness, and never care about anything again. For some reason, though, I’m not scared of that tonight. I know that, in a way, Nicholas is still with me, and I never could forget him, even if I tried. Drinking is not a bad thing, as long as I do it in moderation and refuse to allow myself to engage in the activity on a regular basis. Besides, I’m sure Nicholai won’t allow me to get too intoxicated.

When the bartender returns with our drinks, two shot glasses and a bottle of cheap tequila, I initiate the conversation I had planned to engage in with Nicholai. “So,” I inquire casually, resting my arms upon the polished wooden bar bordering my location, “where are you from?”

He turns in his seat next to mine, and his knee rests against my outer thigh. He doesn’t seem to be bothered by the fact that we are touching, and so, to prevent myself from seeming anxious and uncomfortable, I pretend to ignore it. I ignore the fact that even his knee is warm through my pant leg…

“I’m from December,” he answers smoothly before filling both of our glasses to the brim, spilling only a slight amount of alcohol on the bar top as the liquid splashes into the bottom of the glass. I stare at the golden liquid that now looks black against the bar, a piece of memory floating to the surface of my mind. Nick’s church was 300 iles from December. I smirk bemusedly at that, realizing that far too many things about this man are similar to Nicholas. It would be amusing, if it weren’t so unnerving. I didn’t think reincarnation was ever possible, never believed it. Even when I realized how similar Meryl was to Rem, I never allowed myself to believe that it was true. Yet, faced with everything now, I’m nearly forced to believe in it. I want to believe it. Even if, by some strange jest of God, Nicholai is Wolfwood’s reincarnation, I still refuse to allow that to change my state of mind any more. I refuse to live in the past and continue to grope in the dark for a hope beyond hope, and a love that was never fulfilled. Life continues on. It’s time I went with it. “Ever been there?”

I nod, looking deep into his eyes, hoping that my gaze gives away more than words ever could, and that he has the uncanny ability to read my thoughts, and know that I have decided not to let anyone or anything disrupt my life again.

The smile he gives me speaks volumes, telling me that he understands. More than a friendly smirk, or even an amused smirk of recognition. It is a smile of pure knowing, total comprehension and appreciation.

Maybe I’m reading too much into this.

I turn from him, lifting the shot glass to my lips and smelling the spicy, alcohol-tinged scent of the beverage before tilting my head back, propelling the drink through my throat and almost delighting in the bittersweet, slightly searing aftertaste that follows. I replenish my glass, making sure to fill it to the maximum capacity. My leg doesn’t hurt as much anymore.

Before I even bother to take a glance back at him, I swallow the second drink as quickly as the first, ignoring the sounds my stomach creates, more than likely due to the fact that I haven’t eaten at all today, and now I’m filling it with a liquid that is nearly forgotten by my digestive tract. Poor stomach…

“I grew up with my mother and father. I have an older brother, but I haven’t seen him in years. He’s already gotten married and has his own kids. My parents used to own a restaurant there. I never liked their food though; too spicy. I worked there most of my life, though. It was nice.”

I finally turn back to him, grinning slightly. “So, why are you here in Maya?” it had to be asked, didn’t it? Why would he want to leave his home, if he was happy there?

Nicholai lowers his head, the chocolate colored bangs that frame his face falling into his eyes that are now closed. I think I may have said something wrong. He seems upset. “I left because my parents… died. I figured there was no point in my staying in a town that I didn’t really like, when I had no job and hardly any money. After they died, the restaurant got shut down.” He concludes with a shrug and raises his head.

I hesitantly place a hand on his shoulder, feeling sorry for him, wanting to give him understanding and comfort. He shrugs it off, regrettably. It crushes my pride, but I know that the action wasn’t directed towards my offering of sympathy. It was directed towards the anger at himself that he’s attempting to conceal inside. Unfortunately, it’s not very well concealed. I know he’s furious, and I immediately realize that his parents did not die of natural causes. I don’t think I want to know how they died. I don’t want to have to face death any more than I have to.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, the words congealing dryly in the smoke-saturated air. I know that it was meaningless, and it wouldn’t matter to him. It was a trained response, I suppose. Something that was more required of me, than needed. He casually tilts his head back and gulps down the tequila before removing a cigarette from his pocket, along with a match. He scratches the blunt piece of wood against the top of the bar with a trained flick of his wrist, sending a small plume of smoke wafting into the air nearby, then lights his cigarette and puts the spent match into the ashtray.

“This conversation,” he says dryly, “is getting too serious.” I nod, agreeing with him fully. I didn’t come here expecting to draw out the evening into some sort of depressed attempt at frivolous conversation. I came here to have a good time and learn some more about the man that has my attention at this moment, his lips casually holding the cigarette between his lips, causing it to bob up and down when he says, “Tell me about Wolfwood.”

That took me by surprise, and I let it show on my face, raising my eyebrows and leaning back a bit. His knee is still touching mine, though. It’s comforting, in a way. “He was my best friend.” That was probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever said in my life. I am such an idiot.

“Why does your brother give you shit about him?”

I sink down into my shoulders, not really wanting to answer the embarrassing question. I almost want to tell him that it’s none of his business, but immediately think better of it. There really is no reason whatsoever to be rude to him. There’s no point in trying to push away one of the only things that I want to be close to right now. “I guess it’s because… he’s jealous.” Nicholai leans back in his seat, and his knee finally removes itself from my leg. “All my brother ever wanted was to be with me. I’m the only person he’s ever had, or cared about. When I started to become attached to Wolfwood… I guess he got jealous that it wasn’t him I was with. It’s a long, sordid story that’s too serious for this conversation, so I’ll just say that Wolfwood, at that time, was more important to me than anyone else has ever been.” Even Rem, I add silently, and I know that it’s true. Hell, if it were Rem that I loved, in the more physical aspect of the word, rather than simply the emotional, I would have lusted after Meryl so many years ago. Then again, Meryl was a bossy, commanding bitch. It’s not nice to think that, especially considering that she was my friend back then, too, but she really did nothing but get in my way and hit me every chance she got. I really did care about her, regardless of all of her flaws, but never the way I cared for Nicholas. And Millie… I won’t even get started on her. She was one of the sweetest people I’ve ever known, but the fact that Nicholas might have…No, I won’t start down that train of thought. I’ve asked Meryl about it, earning me a good lecture and a harsh, suspicious look from the woman, but it also confirmed my suspicions that nothing actually happened. Although, there’s always been the thought nagging in the back of my mind that Millie doesn’t seem to be the type to “kiss and tell,” as they say. She may have lied to Meryl.

“Okay, on to the next subject. What’s your real name?”

The words drag me back quickly from my train of thought, and I award his efforts with a light chuckle. “My name is Vash,” I answer, raising my eyebrows as if it’s the most common fact in the world.

“That’s what you tell everyone. Is it the truth? Do you have a last name?”

I grin, remembering Wolfwood saying words very similar to these. It makes me feel nostalgic. “Vash is my real name. I never really thought about my last name. I suppose that, since my brother has the last name, ‘Millions,’ it’s mine, as well. We were never really given full names. They weren’t necessary.”

“That’s right…” he draws out, raising his eyebrows and leaning back in his chair as if he’s suddenly figured out all of the mysteries of the universe. “You’re a plant, right? You came over here on those ships over five-hundred years ago.”

I nod. I don’t particularly enjoy the fact that almost everyone in this day and age knows the truth about my brother and I. We’re sometimes shied away from publicly. We're living, breathing, walking, talking, human looking plants that seem like they’ll live forever. I know that’s not true. Plants don’t live forever. I just don’t want to think about what it will be like after the plants fail around here. I don’t know how long we’ll all live, but I know it won’t be forever… and after they’re all gone, what’s left to power the world? Will our death lead to the inevitable destruction of the human race? No, I shouldn’t think like that…

“Can I ask you some questions about plants?”

I nod, unsure of what he’s going to ask, and unsure of whether or not I’ll answer the questions. I drink another shot of tequila, trying to loosen myself up. “Are you… anatomically correct?” He raises an eyebrow at me, his mouth set into an uncertain frown, probably trying not to seem perverted, but still curious, despite himself.

My eyes widen and I nod rapidly, taken aback by his question as much as he was from asking it. I quickly refill my glass with tequila and down the alcohol. “So you have a penis, and everything?”

My head snaps back at that, and I feel my face heat up abnormally. I’m probably blushing so bad it looks like a sunburn, which is, oddly enough, not possible for plants. We’re immune to the effects of overexposure to sunlight. “I… yeah. How else would I pee??” He chuckles, releasing some of the tension in my shoulders and lifting the uncomfortable air around us. He takes a long drag on his cigarette, then, and exhales towards the ceiling, making a smoke ring. The only reason I would ever want to try smoking would be so I could do that. Regardless of how bad those things are for you, it’s still fascinating to watch the circle rise into the air.

Studying the windows that decorate the wall to my right, I realize that night is beginning to fall. The sun on the horizon is nothing more than a dark amber yellow, saturating the lower half of the sky; while the upper half is occupied by the early show of the moons that circle the planet, a few of the brighter stars already beginning to sparkle amidst the darkness. I drink my fourth glass of tequila. Or is it my fifth?

Nicholai finally extinguishes his cigarette in the ashtray next to me, having smoked every inch of the paper right down to the brown filter. “What,” he finally asks, breeching the silence of the moment, “are you doing in Maya, Vash?”

I turn away from the windows, back to him, and refill my glass with tequila, my hand shaking a bit more than I would like. “I’m here with my brother. We’re gonna work on the water… plant… thing.”

He grins, “Yeah, I heard you worked on those things,” and drinks another glass to accompany mine.

My stomach makes a horrid, gruesome gurgling sound as I refill my glass once more, and quickly down the alcohol. When it reaches my stomach, I feel myself fall over, fully expecting to hit the floor in an embarrassing heap. Strangely, I’m greeted by warms hands and arms wrapped around my body. For a moment, I’m completely confused, but when I look up to see Nicholai smiling down at me sympathetically, I realize that instead of falling backwards, I’ve fallen straight into his arms. It’s like a scene straight out of one of those cheesy romance novels, and I almost expect to hear soft music begin.

Quite the opposite greets me, however, as I’m shoved back into my seat with a laugh. “You really can’t hold your liquor, Vash!” he informs me, chuckling all the while. “C’mon! Time for another round!” He refills my glass. I’ve never been one to back down from a challenge, so I lift it, clink it against his in some odd sort of toast to unknown things, and tilt my head back, nearly vomiting from the pure stench of the alcohol as it makes its harsh run down my throat. Slamming the glass down onto the bar, I announce that I’m ready for another by reaching for the bottle, managing to knock it over.

Nicholai, who is obviously a bit more sober than myself, fills the glasses once more while he says something to me that I really don’t care to discern at the moment. For some reason, I just watch as his lips move, not really hearing him. Then, my vision blurs. God, I’m drunk.

“Vash? Did you hear me?”

I smile crookedly and shake my head, then lean towards him, slumping my face onto my hand and not caring that it squishes my cheek up to the point that I can’t see out of my right eye. “Whadja say?”

“I asked where you were staying tonight. I’m probably going to have to carry you home, after this next one.”

I shrug, not really caring. I could sleep on the floor of the bar tonight, for all I care. It really wouldn’t make a difference right now. I grab my glass and tilt my head back. When I slam it back onto the counter, I let out a small burp and announce that I am, indeed, done for the night by promptly collapsing onto the counter.

I barely hear a light shuffling and a sigh nearby before I’m lifted off of my seat and slung over someone’s shoulders. Then, darkness covers my line of sight, coming from the outside edges, and I let my head fall limply against something warm and soft.

A/N: Hmm… a drunken Vash, a slightly intoxicated Nicholai… a tavern with upstairs bedrooms… I wonder where this is gonna lead? ::grins evilly:: Even I can’t wait to see… hehehe…

- I know Meryl didn’t really hit Vash all that much, but in the episode when they meet Wolfwood, she must have hit him at least four times. ::growls::

- I am really unclear as to the nature of plants. All I really know is that they live a long time and that Vash and Knives are plants. o_o Does anyone know how long they live?

- The idea that plants are, “immune to the effects of overexposure to the sunlight,” stems from the fact that regardless of how long Vash was outside, wandering in the desert, he remained the palest character of the show.

- The idea that Vash’s last name is ‘Millions’ doesn’t seem too odd, does it?