Reflections

A/N: Sorry about the delay with this chapter. I really couldn’t get my lazy butt to write it. I have some scenes I’m really looking forward to though, in the future, so it shouldn’t take so long for the next chapter. Read, enjoy. I’m not sure how I feel exactly about the way I executed this. It’s pretty early in the morning, (4:03 AM) so if something doesn’t make sense or someone’s OOC, etc, just let me know. I’m not afraid of constructive criticism. Oh, and review, please.

**I do not own Trigun. Wanna help me out with that problem?


Previously:

Wolfwood shrugged, knowing perfectly well where they were headed, but not wanting to seem as if he suddenly had a destination in mind after all their wandering.

“Let’s go. Get on, Vash.” He replied curtly.

**At least I don’t have to look at that hurt in your eyes while I drive.**

He inhaled the smoke of his cigarette deeply, filling his lungs almost to the point of coughing. He breathed it out through his nose and then threw the butt to the ground, grinding it out with his heel.

Reflections Chapter 7: Punishment

That morning they drove through the desert. After the only attempt at conversation had been all but slaughtered by Wolfwood’s sudden disgust with Vash, Vash made no more effort to speak. They passed the time silently, Vash’s arms wrapped rigidly around Wolfwood’s waist as they drove, as a safety precaution only. He could tell by the way that the man was sitting behind him, that if it weren’t for fear of falling off, he wouldn’t be touching him at all. Wolfwood decided that Vash could take a hint pretty well if all it took was one snide comment to force their developing friendship to a screeching halt.

In his heart he knew that Vash wasn’t simply “taking a hint,” but was more than likely very hurt by Nick’s words.

**I’m doing this for the kids, Vash. I’m doing it for you. You might be upset now, but God, if you knew what every kiss would cost us, might already have cost us, you’d do the same to me. If I could tell you all this, I would. But throw my betrayal on top y mey mean words, and I don’t know if that pain in your eyes would ever go away.**

He told himself this so that he could ignore the cold feeling of his back without someone pressing against it. That had been how he and Vash had usually traveled throughout the journey. There was nothing romantic about it, just one friend resting against the other on a long drive.

And so the silence stretched as far as the sand; no apparent end in sight.

Several hours later, when Wolfwood pulled into the dusty town, he parked Angelina in front of the first saloon they came across on the main drag. He figured he’d need a drink (or five) in his system before he went searching for whatever cryptic means of doling out his punishment Legato had set up here. Vash slid off the bike nearly before it had stopped moving, and Nick sat immobile for a heartbeat. Two. Three. He forced himself to stand and walk towards the saloon, whose batwing doors were swinging shut from the gunman who had quickly passed through.

**Shit. He is really upset. How the Hell can I make this better? CAN I make this better? Damn, Legato. How are you watching us?!**

Faint music was drifting out from the dark interior of the bar, a passionate song that seemed to be full of frustration and anger. He could already tell he was going to like this bar. It seemed to fit his mood perfectly.

He had the most peculiar feeling of someone staring at him. He glanced behind him as he pushed through the dusty wooden doors, checking out the pedestrians milling around the dirt road. Some had packages, others children, still others talked and gestured with their hands animatedly. The only eyes in his direction were those of a few small children reaching out to touch his motorcycle as their parents hurried them along.

He grinned and waved at one little boy who seemed particularly interested in the bike, right before he passed completely through the double doors of the saloon.

**See Vash. It’s kids like him. What’s a little heartache and hurt feelings compared to the wellbeing of the ki-** Wolfwood was cut off mid-thought as he finally faced forward just inside the bar. Across the dimly lit room a man on stage was effortlessly playing an emotional medley on a shining golden saxophone. The song that had piqued Nick’s interest when he heard it breezing through the doors while he was parking.

Pain, anger, frustration, sorrow, longing, lust. The feelings tore their way from the musician’s lungs to his lips, through the sax, and circulated around the room. The man wasn’t even breaking a sweat.

From the tips of his impeccably shined shoes to the starched collar of his pastel pink shirt, from the pearly cufflinks neatly clasped at his wrists to the sharp crease of his pants, he was exactly as Nick remembered him.

“Midvalley. Fuck.”

The small smile from waving at the child slipped completely from his face and he stuffed his hands into the deep pockets of his slightly wrinkled slacks. He always felt especially sloppy around Midvalley, who spent almost as much time and effort on how he looked as how he played. Nicholas was the exact opposite, spending only enough time to clothe his nakedness and going out without a second glance in the mirror.

Perhaps that’s why Midvalley had taken such a distinct liking to him back in Dhimitri, at headquarters. They were polar oppositeick ick knew very well how the old saying went.

Midvalley continued playing, eyes closed. If Wolfwood hadn’t known better, he’d have said the musician did not realize that he and Vash had walked in. But being that the entire mission of the Gung-Ho Guns was getting Vash the Stampede into Master Knives’ possession (and hopefully breaking his spirit along the way), Nick knew that Midvalley noticed. It was his job, after all.

This brought his attention back to Vash. He was sitting at the counter of the bar, moodily sipping on a small glass of whisky. His posture was defensive, he was slouching over the counter, and he was clearly trying to tell Nick not to approach him. Nick slid into the stool next to him but said nothing. He waved to the bartender, who was polishing a few glasses (and quite possibly making them dirtier in doing so.) The bartender walked up to him and raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“I’ll have what he’s having.”

The bartender set a glass in front of him and poured the whisky, effectively hiding the water spots and whatever other unsavory markings covered the glass.

Wolfwood took a large gulp of it and set the glass back down. He cleared his throat and began what he hoped was the speech to “make-things-ok-between-them.”

“Vash, I-“

“Stop.” Vash straightened his back and turned to face Nicholas.

“Nick, I don’t know why you were so nasty to me this morning, and I don’t care. Obvly wly we made some sort of mistake, and...”

“No! No. Vash, it’s not that! It’s just-“ Nick sighed. He couldn’t tell the man beside him any of the reasons for his actions, and he couldn’t bring himself to outright lie to him.

“It’s O.K. I understand.” Vash looked straight into Nicholas’ eyes. His face set in serious lines and his body sat in perfect stillness. Nick frowned and clenched his fists, suddenly very angry; angrier than he had been all day. Angry at Vash, angry at Legato, angry at himself. Angry at the whole damned situation.

“So-“ Vash continued, his face morphing into the increasingly annoying “phony-nervous face”, his blue eyes scrunching shut and ofy ofy grin plastered across his face. uessuess we should just pretend nothing happened!” He chirped, patting Wolfwood amicably on the back.

“No, Vash, we shouldn’t. It’s... I...” Wolfwood struggled for words that would convey his feelings that the only good thing to happen to him in the past few months was touching Vash’s skin, kissing Vash’s lips, bathing in the second-hand glow that was the Humanoid Typhoon. Words that would explain all that and at the same time, not give Vash any notion that they could continue their actions. AND explain why. AND not incriminate him and expose all of his lies.

**Hah. Right. What a bundle of impossible contradictions.**

He opened his mouth to speak, possibly to tell Vash how badly he wanted his forgiveness for this morning’s spat (among every one of his other sins), or possibly to tell Vash that he was right and that they had made a huge mistake. He wasn’t sure which would slip from his lips, “A” or “B”. The truth or the lie. But before he could even draw breath to form his first word, the music reached a feverish pitch and both the gunman and the priest stared at the saxophonist, startled when the music suddenly stopped. Vash turned back to the counter and Midvalley gave Wolfwood a meaningful smirk before bending over to pack up his instrument.

**Yeah, I know. You’re going to deliver my punishment. You don’t have to be so obvious, Midvalley. You always were the master of the overstatement.**

The saxophonist walked briskly out the back exit of the club, and paused only to glance back once more at the priest.

Wolfwood stood and dropped a couple of double dollars on the counter to pay for his and Vash’s drinks. He threw a few extras down as an afterthought and mumbled “Here, have a few more drinks. I’m going to rent a room for us. I’ll be back soon.” He turned on his heel and strode out the front exit of the bar, wincing as the words he just spoke replayed in his head.

**’...Have a few more drinks.’ Yeah, good going. Way to be an asshole, Nicholas.** He sighed heavily as he circled around the side of the saloon to the alley in the back. **How else was I supposed to get out of there quick enough to follow Midvalley? AGH! This hole I’m digging myself keeps getting deeper and deeper. I feel like I’m way too close to burying myself completely.**

And suddenly he had reached his destination, the back alley of the saloon, face to face with Midvalley the Hornfreak.

“Nicholas Wolfwood. I see you’ve not changed.” Midvalley stated in his smoothest voice. “Still handsome as ever. Honestly though, you’d thinu’d u’d have aquatinted yourself with an iron by now.” He gestured long fingers at Nick’s travel-wrinkled pants.

“Hornfreak.” Wolfwood acknowledged the musician, bobbing his head once. He couldn’t bring himself say much more to the man in front of him, not when the nervousness of not knowing what punishment lay in store for him was forcing his heart painfully into his throat.

Midvalley took one large stride towards Nick, closing the distance between them and backing Nick into a wall. He raised one arm and splayed his hand across the bricks, right beside Nicholas’ face. The musician leaned in close, closer, until the pale skin of his long nose brushed the darker, tanner, more masculine nose of the priest. The rise and fall of their chests caused the coarse black cotton of Nick’s suit to brush against the smooth black material of Midvalley’s.

“Cut the foreplay, Midvalley. Get to the point. What’s my punishment?” Wolfwood whispered, trying to move his mouth as little as possible to avoid a potel col collision of lips.

“As I remember, foreplay was your favorite part, Wolfie. What’s changed? Oh yes, I remember-“ Midvalley spoke in a mocking voice, his signature smirk tugging at his lips. “Vash the Stampede. I guess groping him has had more than one negative effect, then. I mean, besides your sorrowful loss of foreplay and your impending punishment, I imagine Master Knives has probably stepped up his monitoring of your journey, am I wrong? So no more hot little numbers for you and Vash.” Midvalley stuck out his bottom lip in a fake pout, and slowly blinked his dark eyes at Nicholas.

“But I could play you a hot little number, if you’d like. I still remember a few tunes we used to play, Wolfie.” He offered, bringing his free hand up to touch the side of Nick’s face.

“Fuck off Midey. ey. That was ages ago. That meant nothing, and you know it, so stop acting like you give a shit what I do or who I do. I know you don’t really, so if you’re acting like this on Legato’s orders, just cut it out. What’s my fucking punishment?” Nick ducked under the musician’s arm and stepped a few steps away from him, looking him in the eyes from a safe and comfortable distance away.

Midvalley laughed heartily, his head tilted back and his hand on his stomach. “Fine, you’re right.” He spoke, still chuckling a bit. “Here.” He bent and picked up a medium sized white box, which had been hidden behind his saxophone case. “Yeah, Legato told me to play with you a bit. But you’re right, it never meant anything, so it seems a little silly to be acting jealous, doesn’t it?” He handed Wolfwood the box, who by now wasn’t listening to a word Midvalley was saying. “Still though, if you do decide you need a good time while you’re in town...” The musician picked up his saxophone case and turned, walking down the alley and talking over his shoulder. “...you can figure out where to find me.”

Wolfwood stared at the box, his heart pounding.

**Fuck. I do NOT want to open this thing.**


---TBC---

A/N: ooooh, tense? Actually, I’m afraid the next chapter is going to be something of a letdown, but a surprise nonetheless. Hopefully, at least.