Disclaimers: Trigun is not mine. Plain and simple. Duh.
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Somewhere in time, there is a circle.
Somewhere in time, the circle will be complete.
Somewhere in time, love is forever.

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“God, almighty, my ass is killing me!” I sound like a whiney child, my voice nearly shrill but a bit scratchy at the same moment, as Nicholai and I walk through the town at a fairly early time in the morning. There are only a few others out in these premature hours of the day, where one of the suns has yet to rise above the horizon, many of them making their way to their jobs. I don’t worry too much about upsetting them with my outburst. One woman, though, walking fairly close by, casts me a peculiar look, raising one eyebrow, and then pointedly looks away.

I can imagine how I looked to her. My hair, still lacking its tie, is flying out at irregular angles due to the previous night’s activities, my clothes are wrinkled, and I’m limping horribly, only now it’s more than likely due to the pain resonating from my rear end, rather than the bullet hole in my thigh.

Nicholai, walking in his usual carefree stride, smirks at me, an unlit cigarette clamped between his teeth. “Maybe I should be more gentle next time,” he says off-handedly, sounding a bit muffled as he tries to talk without his jaw moving, still compressing the cigarette in his mouth.

I give him a nervous smile, still unsure as to whether or not there will be a next time. When I awoke this morning, I felt suddenly out of place in his arms, like I had done something horrible. It makes me feel guilty and rotten, thinking about it. I find myself confused as to whether or not it was really Nicholai that led me to act they way I did. Honestly, I know next to nothing about him, and it’s slightly unnerving to know that he is so familiar with my past and myself. Then again, lots of people are familiar with the legend of “Vash the Stampede,” the former sixty billion double dollar man who fought his evil brother Knives and brought him back to some semblance of sanity, though some people are unaware of the fact that the legend is still alive and well. I shouldn’t worry too much about it.

“There’s the water system, up there,” Nicholai says suddenly, raising his arm to point out the large silver structure towards the outskirts of town that dwarfs the other buildings nearby. It’s not too far of a walk, now. I’m thankful for that. My leg was beginning to ache again, the bullet hole still causing me a bit of an upset. I may be nearly immortal, but I’m damn well not invincible. It hurts.

“Good! I thought we were going to be walking around forever, looking for it,” I say, picking up my pace, despite the pain, and trying to act as if I’m excited about the fact that I’m going to have to confront my brother soon. Honestly, I was almost hoping that we would have to walk around forever. I don’t think I can take dealing with my brother right now, if he’s already there, beginning the work on it. Nicholai catches up to my newly inspired quick pace and wraps an arm around my waist. I respond by wrapping an arm around his shoulder and giving him a smile. He must have noticed how much my wound was hurting me.

“Vash, when we see your brother… I want to be there with you.”

That took me totally by surprise. Nicholai has nothing to do with the fight between my brother and I, and I don’t like involving unnecessary people in our family quarrels. “Why would you want to do that?” I ask, trying my best to pin him with a tough look, something analogous to suspicion and anxiety.

He wholly ignores the look, giving me a soft smile, and changes the angle of our walk, towards a small general store. I stare ahead questioningly, wondering for the life of me why he would need to go into the store. He points to the rough-looking bench set outside on the wooden porch. “I think we need to have a semi-serious discussion, babe.”

I’m a bit taken aback by him calling me, “babe,” but I ignore it as best I can and let him help me onto the porch and over to the rickety, none too safe-looking bench. I turn slowly, doing my best not to twist my leg any more than necessary, and settle myself down onto it, the wood brushing roughly against my pants and, more than likely, flaking splinters onto them. Nicholai sits down next to me, with far more grace, and pins me with a serious expression. “Here’s how it is, Vash. I’m going to be straight with you, now. Tell you the truth. I like you a lot, Vash.”

I can feel my cheeks heat up at that, the left side of my mouth wanting to twitch into a small, embarrassed smile or grin. All I can do is nod half-heartedly, though. I really don’t know if I should respond to that, or not.

He continues, “I know I’ve only known you a day, really, but it’s nice to be around you. I like being around you. I hope we can be around each other for a while.”

I pale, wondering what exactly he’s saying, then, despite my nervousness, I allow my frivolous nature to take hold, and I quickly stand, stretching a bit despite the pain in my thigh. “Okay, Nicholai,” I say simply, not even bothering to care if it is an affirmation and acceptance of his previous words. I know I’m not ready or willing to start spouting sonnets to a man I’ve only known one day, and slept with because I was drunk. That’s not the way the world works. “We’d better get going, then. The second sun has already risen.” I point to the horizon, where a subsequent sunrise is showing itself over the dusty plain.

I walk off the porch and hear Nicholai mumble a few words to himself before standing. He quickly catches up with me, eyes downcast and hands in his pockets. He’s probably hurt by my practically ignoring him. I suppose I should apologize, or something. I mean, I didn’t want to hurt him, but how else can you convey the message that you’re not ready to talk about something without coming off as crass? I’m sure there was some better way to do it, but at this point in time, I have not a clue as to what those ways may be. The only thing really on my mind right now is what I’m going to do when I see Knives again. I sigh at my own thoughts and Nicholai looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “We’re here,” I say finally, the words I’d been nearly dreading for an hour, now. The silver casing of the main structure of the water refinery plant winks at me in the sunlight, and I grab onto the railing of the stairs in front of me and begin walking up, taking slow, deliberate steps. My feet clank hollowly on the iron grating of the steps, as do Nicholai’s behind me, until I finally reach the door at the top and pull it open, the metal hinges creaking loudly.

Once inside, after Nicholai closes the door behind him, I remain stagnant for a moment, letting my eyes adjust to the light, or lack thereof. In the distance, I can hear a few noises permeating the darkness. The slight blipping sound of computers doing their jobs, the sound of water flowing through pipes, and somewhere, there is the sound of someone typing at a control panel, the keys tapping rapidly. I know almost immediately that it’s Knives, and I hesitantly begin walking forward, going down the long, thin corridor until I finally come to a corner. I turn right and the corridor opens up into a room, round and sweeping, the light of computer panels that line the complete structure of the walls reflecting off of the polished surface of the floor and ceiling in faded blues, reds, yellows and greens. Directly in front of me, there are tubes with water flowing downwards through them, lit in an eerie green glow and covered by a layer of thick glass, and in front of them, at the main control panel, typing away at the console, is Knives, his blonde hair turned green with blue streaks due to the lights around him.

He is the first to speak, his hands never faltering on the keys in front of him. “Vash,” he says knowingly. “What are you doing here?”

I swallow harshly in my throat, not knowing what to say. What am I doing here, anyway? “I… was hoping to talk to you.”

He stops his typing for but a moment, his back straightening and his head rising slightly to peer at us in the reflection of the glass. He then resumes to staring downwards, his fingers also resuming their typing. “What’s he doing here, if you wanted to talk to me?”

Nicholai steps forward, halfway between Knives and myself. “I’m here because I want to talk to you, too,” he says pointedly, much to my surprise. I take a step forward, as well, closing a bit of the distance between us.

Knives immediately stops his typing and whirls around in the chair bolted to the floor in front of the console, pinning us both with a furious glare. “Vash, I suggest you call off your pet before I hurt him,” he hisses at me.

Nicholai immediately closes the gap between himself and Knives, glaring down at him with a matched ferocity in his eyes. He pokes him in the chest with one finger, and I immediately tense at the action, knowing Knives will not consider it a very nice thing to do…

“Listen Knives. Quit being such a hard-ass to your brother. He’s a good man, much better than you, and he deserves to be treated as such. Stop bossing him around and treating him like shit. It’s already starting to piss me off.”

Knives falters for a moment, apparently taken aback by Nicholai’s forwardness. I find myself staring blankly between the two of them, unsure as to what will happen next and unsure as to whether I can do anything about it. Knives then takes the initiative, standing from his seat and grabbing onto Nicholai’s wrist, pulling it down and away from his chest. Nicholai doesn’t seem to react to the action, although I know from personal experience that Knives’ grip is like a vice. Knives’ eyes narrow even more than before and he frowns slightly. I take a step towards them, my hand outstretched as if to grab for something. “Knives, don’t…”

He cuts me off with a furious glare, then twists Nicholai’s wrist so sharply that he lets out a quick gasp. Whether out of surprise, or pain, I don’t care. I react immediately, closing the distance between us and grabbing onto Knives’ wrist. “Let him go,” I say angrily, with much more force than I had ever hoped to conjure up. Knives stares at me, his expression fixed. “We didn’t come here to fight, Knives. I just want to talk to you.”

My answer is another sharp twist of Nicholai’s wrist, and another startled gasp. Then, all hell breaks loose. Nicholai, apparently tired of getting treated like a helpless victim, rears back one fist and hurls it into Knives’ face. I hear the sickening crack of bone against bone, and in the blink of an eye Knives is sent falling back into the console with so much force his wrist is jerked free of my hand. A few of the consoles begin to beep at him in protest, and a small spark flies out from it. Knives jerks away from it in surprise, then stops in his tracks and glares at Nicholai, a small trickle of blood running down from his nose. “You arrogant little bitch!” he growls at him and then makes a step as if to attack.

I step in between the two of them, glaring back at Knives. “We don’t want to fight, Knives. Just calm down.” He glares at me for a moment, and then begins to step forward as if to walk right past me. I put a hand on his shoulder. “Knives, stop.” A pain suddenly forms in my stomach, and I double over before I even realize what happened. I look at my feet in amazement for a moment, wondering how I got in that position, then as Knives moves past me, I realize that he must have hit me in the stomach. I grab his arm as he passes, holding onto his sleeve even though I’m still bent over. “Stop it,” I order, my face still twisted in pain. Knives certainly has one hell of an arm.

He jerks said arm free of my grasp, but I quickly counter it, straightening myself and grabbing onto his other arm. He jerks that one free as well and shoves me away. The backs of my knees connect with the stool in front of the main console and I topple backwards, hitting my head so hard on the floor that I bite my tongue. I close my eyes tightly in pain, sitting up a bit to rub the back of my head. My eyes fly open when I feel someone grab onto the front of my shirt and jerk me to my feet, then slam me against the glass covering the pipes and the terminal. Knives is nearly an inch from my face, glaring at me, his teeth gritting themselves tightly together.

I let out a small whimper that sounds weak and pathetic to my own ears and grab onto his wrists. “Knives, stop it!” He lifts me forward then slams me back into the glass once more.

“Knives, stop it,” he mocks before pulling me forward to slam my head into the glass again. “You useless wimp,” he spits at me and I look up at him through the hair that has fallen into my eyes, my jaw set angrily.

I begin to push him off of me, using any leverage I can get to press against him. He puts up a fight for a moment, and then suddenly stops, his eyes wide and staring beside me, into the glass. I look behind him and see Nicholai, his face set into a scowl towards the back of Knives’ head. “Let him go,” he hisses at Knives, still scowling. Then, I see what has gotten Knives so upset. At the end of Nicholai’s arm is a gun, Knives’ gun, and the barrel of it is resting against his blonde hair. I find myself wondering how he had removed it from his holster without Knives noticing.

“Oh, God… don’t do this,” I whisper at Nicholai, trying my best to sound commanding despite the fact that I’m scared out of my mind. Nicholai merely gives me a quick glance then returns his sights to the back of Knives’ head.

“Let him go,” he repeats, more authoritative this time. I realize that we’re all at a standstill at the moment, and I ponder in captivated fascination what could transpire next. Is Knives really willing to risk his life to beat the living daylights out of us? I certainly hope not.

Finally, Knives concedes, releasing the front of my shirt and lowering his head before taking a few steps back and staring at Nicholai with a blank expression. He gives me a wary glance, inquiring in a way, and I turn my attentions to Nicholai, who is still aiming down the sights at Knives’ head. I will my feet forward, slow and deliberate, until I am by his side, my hand resting atop his and lowering the gun until it is aimed at the reflective silver flooring. I smile at him, weakly, trying to draw his attention from Knives, and just when I think that this whole hellish encounter has come to a conclusion, the bronzed hand raises the black gun once again, returning to the previous location. “Nicholai,” I begin weakly, a futile attempt to calm him, when I am interrupted.

“Apologize to your brother!” Nicholai barks, the gun wavering slightly in his hand. I nearly gasp in surprise, then favor a glance at Knives, who is now scowling deeply, his eyes conveying the message perfectly that he will never agree to that.

“That’s not necessary, Nicholai,” I whisper weakly, placing my hand back onto his. He jerks away from me immediately.

“Yes it is!” he screams with much more passion than I ever thought to hear from someone like him; someone who had only known me a day, and was already trying to become my protector.

A bit shaken, I return my hand to his, still trying to calm him. “No, it’s alright. Knives just has a temper, is all. He would never really hurt me.” Strangely enough, I find myself beginning to wonder if I believe these words I’m speaking. The entire idea of Knives ever fatally injuring me seems like a strange dream, yet somehow, when he gets truly angry, it’s been all I can do to protect my life from him, to persuade him not to kill me. I suppose everyone has his limits. I’ve learned not to push him too far by now, I suppose.

Nicholai is glaring fiercely, angrily. It’s all I can do to keep from looking away from that intense, ferocious look when he turns it on me. “Would never really hurt you?” His voice takes on a venomous tone, accusatory and harsh. “He shot you, Vash! What else does he do to you?” I take a step back, unsure of myself, unsure of Nicholai’s underlying tones, unsure of Nicholai himself. For some reason, I simply gawk at him, staring blankly, unable to form any truly coherent thought other than the fact that he’s scaring me. “I say we show him what it’s like to get shot.”

I do the only thing I can do, given my immature sensibilities and stubborn ideals: I step forward, trying to block the bullet, or even throw off Nicholai’s aim. He immediately knows that I’m doing this, though, and takes one step away from me, that small movement becoming enough to throw me off and cause me to stumble behind him. I close my eyes tightly and look away when I hear the shot and see, out of the corner of my eye, the kick of the gun causing Nicholai’s hand to jerk upwards. I don’t want to look; I can’t look. I finally open my eyes to see my own reflection in a glass covered computer panel, the green lights underneath adding a sickening gleam to my face, all shadows and hideous contours. I can’t bring myself to move, then, trapped in my own eyes, the look in my eyes; something bordering on insanity, no doubt.

Then, when I hear Knives groan in pain finally, I turn and see him grabbing his own thigh, nearly the same place he had shot me. His hands are tainted with a strange, sickly red liquid and I am unable to comprehend that it’s blood. I know it’s blood. I know it is, but I don’t believe it. I can’t believe Nicholai just shot my brother. Nicholai shot my brother.

“Nicholai!” I scream angrily, turning on him, expecting to do something, anything, but I end up staring at empty space, instead. I look down and see him on the floor, his knees drawn up to his chest and his shoulders shaking. My anger is momentarily halted when I see him lift his head, gazing up blankly at the ceiling with tears streaming down his cheeks slowly. I am immediately at his side then, my hands resting firmly on his shoulder. “Nicholai?” I question weakly, wanting to believe that this is all just some weird dream and that I’ll wake up very, very soon.

His shoulders shake a bit more, and then he laughs. He opens his mouth and laughs. I recognize almost instantly, though, that it is not a normal laugh. It’s tinged with bitterness, hatred, and self-loathing. Then, his laughter breaks into choked sobs and he buries his head in knees and falls towards me, releasing a pitiable keen of complete revulsion. My arms wrap around him tightly, confusion setting in and causing my mind to whirl and run around in compact, trite circles: Nicholai shot Knives. Knives is bleeding. Help Knives. Nicholai is crying. Help Nicholai. Must do something.

I glance over at Knives, who is standing weakly in the corner of the room, using the main workstation as his crutch to keep him upright. For the moment, he seems fine. I turn back to Nicholai. He’s stopped crying already, yet now he’s staring blankly ahead of him, rocking back and forth as much as the tight grip I have on him will allow. The man who I thought had become my protector has crumbled into pieces at my feet, and I find myself wrapping my arms about him even tighter, running my fingers through his hair and shushing him. I suppose that now, I’ve become his protector. Damn. Had I known any of this would happen, I would have stayed in bed.

“Nicholai, talk to me,” I whisper into his ear, pressing my cheek to his. It feels cold and sweaty at the same time. He shivers a bit, then pulls back and stares, his eyes seeming to look intently at someplace beyond me, right through me.

“I did it again,” he whispers, more to himself than to me.

I fair a glance at Knives, catching sight of his blood-soaked trousers. I shake my head resolutely and turn back to Nicholai. “It’s okay, Nicky,” I say soothingly, burying my face in his neck, still trying to calm him. I don’t really know what it is that has him so upset, but I’m damn well going to help him, for reasons I am unsure of at the moment. I’m damn well going to find out what this was all about when he regains his senses, too.

“Aw. That’s so sweet,” Knives hisses cynically at us, sneering. He closes the distance between us, wobbling slightly as he walks, and then carefully leans down to retrieve his gun. He replaces it in the back of his pants, lowering his jacket down to cover it, and then sneers down at me once more. I gaze up to him, at a loss as to what I should do. Complete confusion and uncertainty has burrowed itself into my brain for the moment. I need some direction. Luckily, I get just that. “If you’re done with your lovey-dovey shit now, I’d like to seek medical attention.”

That’s what I needed to hear, right now.