Reflections

*A/N: To anyone who’s following this story, thank you. To anyone who’s thinking about reviewing this story- thank you even more. Your input is appreciated. I can’t really tell if I should continue withor nor not. This is a story I want to tell, so I think I’m going to keep up with it, but I really can’t tell if it’s too confusing or not. In my head it all works out and makes sense, but you all being writers means you know exactly how that feels. Or at least you **probably** know. I know this isn’t PWP as so many of you like (PWPs get WAY more reviews than I’ve been getting, so it makes me wonder if I’m posting this in the right forum.) Anyway, like I said: To anyone who’s following this story, thanks. Let me know if it gets way too confusing. The timeline WILL straighten out in the next chapter or so, but if the guys aren’t making sense, or are far too OOC (I know Wolfie’s a bit angsty, but that’s how I always imagined him) please feel free to let me know. Constructive criticism is always welcome. Flames, however, will be destroyed by my Squirtle.
*I do not own Trigun. I don’t even own A gun, much less three. And don’t get me started on the angel arm. Boy, if I had one of those babies... Well, let’s just say that Sauron would have NOTHING on me!!

*PS: This one’s a long ‘un.

Chapter 3: Matches

Previously:

**”I wish I wasn’t here. I wish I didn’t have to do all this shit work. I wish he wasn’t so naive.”**

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled a hard earned, though slightly crumpled cigarette out.

Two Days Ago Continued.

Nicholas Wolfwood strolled over to Angelina II, passing the sleeping gunman and the ashes of last night’s fire along the way. The final embers had long since died out and grey dust with the barest hints of blue, a color only found in fresh ash and his own eyes (or so he’d been told) blew past the priest as he walked and mixed with the falling ashes of his cigarette. He scratched at the stubble on his chin and took one last look at Vash, curled up underneath his ridiculously long, red jacket, before shaking his head and continuing on to his motorcycle.

He squatted down in front of her, examining various pipes and gauges. He picked sand out of crevices and wiped a few smudges off of her exterior. He ran his fingers along her body, brushing her with careful hands like an experienced lover. He checked that the Cross-Punisher was securely roped to the back and double-checked that all of his sparse belongings (sunglasses, extra shirt, toothpaste, a small amount of sand-driftwood, and portable confessional) were squarely wrapped away. Everything was set for the day’s journey, wherever it would take them. He put out his dying cigarette and sat, staring at Angelina, though not really seeing her. He was avoiding waking Vash up, hesitant to start his day again with him. After last night’s depressing thoughts (which he had hoped to forget in the pain of a killergovegover, but unfortunately only got a mild hangover AND full memory of everything that went through his mind that night) he just didn’t feel up to looking him in the eyes. He was even beginning to feel a twinge of guilt for being such a dick to him constantly.

**”It’s just that we’re so much alike sometimes. Sometimes he says exactly what I’m thinking, or does exactly what I’m about to do. It’s so much easier to talk down to him than to admit that it could be ME in his place. ME getting set up, without a clue. It sure is going to be nasty when the shit hits the fan. I hope I’ll be long outta dodge by then.”** Nicholas thought.

He sighed and resigned himself to waking his “partner” up. He stood up and stretched, his legs having been bent under him while he checked to make sure Angelina was up to par. They cramped for a second before his joints cracked in a loud and gratifying “pop.” He bent over to dust some of the sand from his dark pants, shaking a bit out of one leg, and then turned around to finally wake Vash.

Vash was already awake; sitting quietly wrapped in his coat, watching the priest for who-knew-how-long. His blue eyes, even more intense than usual with the sleep wiped completely from his face and a fresh (and more importantly, HONEST looking) smile in place, gave him a considering look as Wolfwood walked toward him.

Nicholas took the whole scene in. Tousled blonde hair, turquoise blue eyes, black leather body suit partially hidden under the makeshift blanket of Vash’s coat. White and blue and black and red, against the palette of the sky in which the rising suns were stroking beautiful pinks and tangerines and baby blues. So many colors all at once, it was almost sensory overload.

**”I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many colors all at once on this dust-ball of a planet.”**

“Good morning, Tongari!” Nicholas said, a false smile plastered across his face. His white teeth standing out dramatically against tan skin.

“Good morning, Nick!” Vash replied, his honest smile long gone, a more familiar fake grin spreading in its wake.

After Vash stretched a little from the night’s uncomfortable bed of sand and walked around for a minute to work out the kinks and cramps, they slid onto Angelina II and headed for wherever their new destination would be. Angelina faithfully drove them north through the sand and gravel all day. They stopped only twice; once to piss and once at a small rundown town to get more gas, a small bite to eat, and a fresh bottle of whisky for the coming evening.

By the time the first sun set, both men were so eager to get off the bike and relax that they both agreed to set up camp before it was even dusk.

Nicholas sat cross-legged in the sand, wiping the sweat that had collected on his forehead from his face, so that when the suns were fully set, it wouldn’t cool and make him even chillier than he was probably going to already be tonight. His shirt was nearly damp with sweat, but there was nothing he could do to remedy that, and it was a toss up as to whether it would be warmer with the slightly damp shirt off or on. He decided that once Vash got their small fire going (IF he got their small fire going; they were nearly out of kindling) he could take it off and try to dry it quickly in front of the flames. His black jacket, as far as he could tell, was perfectly fine, with the small exception of desperately needing a wash and a mend or two. Wolfwood slipped the jacket off followed by the shirt in question. Already the breeze was picking up, and Nicholas shook with a long shiver that ran from the base of his neck down to his very toes.

He stood and bent over to retrieve his blazer and slip it on before closing the few steps between where he had been sitting and where Vash was steadily wasting his last few matches trying to light the fire. Red sparks, and a deep blue sky. Vash seemed to be showing Nick more beauty in nature in the last 24 hours than he had ever noticed before.

**”Where the hell did THAT thought come from?”** Nick wondered. But the flying orange, yellow, and red sparks jetted across the dimming backdrop of the sky like tiny stars trying to fly away from this planet, failing, and then crashing back down to Gunsmoke.

Nicholas knelt down beside Vash, who, in his black leather body suit, almost blended in completely with the darkness of approaching night. The pale skin of his face and light color of his hair were the only things that gave him away. His coat was already folded up neatly a few paces away, ready to be used as a pillow or blanket later (whichever Vash deemed to be the most important necessity of the evening.)

“Let me do that.” Nick said with a seldom heard, and even more seldom meant softness in his voice, as he gently pulled the box of matches from Vash’s fingers. He pulled out a match and struck it, cupping his free hand around the small flame to protect it from the light breeze. The wind picked up slightly and Wolfwood struggled to keep the tiny flame from extinguishing. He lowered his hands toward the small pieces of sand-driftwood. The match went out with a quiet “whussh” before it even got near its destination.

Nick muttered a “Fuck” under his breath before taking out another match. Vash moved closer beside him and when Nick struck the head of the match on the side of it’s small box, he too cupped his hands with Nicholas’ to try and keep the flame alive. Suddenly gloved hands were gently resting on tan ones, both still protecting the flame. Callused fingers and tender palms, soft leather covering pale skin. Pulses sped. The breeze put out the flame in no time flat, before they had even begun to lower it to the wood. Neither men moved, both sitting frighteningly still, hands still slightly brushing as if both were willing the flame into existence by simply not acknowledging that it was no longer there.

Wolfwood moved first, dropping the match and turning away to hide the dark blush that crept from the nape of his neck onto his cheeks. The light of the moons would make it clear enough that his face was flushed. He shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat to speak in order to break the odd silence that was stretching between them.

**”What the fuck was that all about?”** He wondered completely confused as to the reason for the heat creeping up his neck and across his face. His heart beat wildly, but whether it was because of the strange small touch they had just shared and its unusual reaction or sheer embarrassment was debatable.

Continuing to look away from Vash, who was still crouched in front of the useless firewood, what he actually managed to say was something of a gravelly-throated “I guess no fire tonight. Too windy.”

“Haha. Yeah, I guess so!” Vash replied in traditional Vash tone, falsely perky and practically dripping with nervousness. The same tone that he always used when trying to make light of an uncomfortable situation. In Wolfwood’s mind he could practically see Vash grinning hugely and uneasily scratching the back of his head.

The uncomfortable silence stretched on, however. They both sat there, staring into the now complete darkness h wah was only broken by the silver glow of the moons. Eventually Nicholas stood and walked over to Angelina II, rifled through his things, and returned to sit next to Vash, whisky in hand. A sort of peace offering so that they could just drink and pretend nothing had happened.

Several hours later the empty brown bottle lay somewhere, forgotten. They were having a drowsy, half-asleep discussion as to whose fault it really was that they were so low on cash. Vash was lying in the sand, looking at the stars in the sky, arms behind his head for support, jacket thrown over his torso as his blanket. Nicholas was still sitting, knees up against his chest, arms folded around his legs, and back slouched at what must have been an uncomfortable angle. He was freezing cold, and huddling in on himself was the easiest way to preserve body heat. His damp shirt lay worthlessly to the side of the non-existent campfire

“Well, if you hadn’t bought those damn donuts.” Nicholas protested quietly for the hundredth time (though the first eighty or so protests were anything but quiet), resting, eyes drooping shut and then fluttering open again.

“Naw. It’s all those cigarettes!” Vash stated firmly, his drunken faith in full support of his proclamation. “They don’t grow on trees, yaknow.”

“Awright, awright.” Nicholas conceded. “But then again, neither does whisky.”

“Too true.” Vash agreed. “We’re both to blame on that f.”
.”

“Although, if it did...” Wolfwood smiled sleepily, before another breeze blew past him, causing him to shiver from head to toes. He gritted his teeth and huddled in on himself even more, if that were possible. Vash’s gaze moved from the bright pinpoints of stars and their governing mothers, the moons, to the man sitting next to him at the sound of Nicholas’ chattering teeth.

“Nick.” Vash spoke, sitting up a little and propping himself up on his elbows to get a better look at Wolfwood. “Nick, are you O.K.? Jeez, that was pretty thoughtless of me to let you just sit there like that, freezing your butt off. I’m sorry!”

“Ehh? No, I’m fine, really.” Nicholas muttered, waving the statement away. Unfortunately, moving his arm away from his the core of heat he was trying to create caused his body to get racked with another bone-shaking shiver. “It’s just. Well, it’s not usually this cold out.”

“We usually have a fire.”

“Oh yeah.” He whispered, trying to remember their last few nights in the desert past his drunken haze. “But I’m O.K. See? Look.” Nicholas made a tired effort at buttoning his blazer all the way up and pulling the collar high up around his neck.

“Get your cold ass over here, Nick.” Vash demanded in a rare moment of unquestionable, no-nonsense resolve.

Nicholas let out a sigh of defeat, his pride weakening in the face of actually getting a piece of that warm-looking red jacket to cover up with. He scooted over next to Vash and slid under the offered half of the jacket. Wolfwood had never been fond of the superfluous amount of fabric that constituted the gunman’s coat until that very moment. Stretched out, there was just enough material to cover both of their torsos completely and most of their legs, with just their ankles and shoes peeking out.

And it was warm. So warm under there with Vash.


---TBC—

*yummy! Shounen ai next!!