The story so far: Vash and Knives are growing closer as brothers, despite the fact that they are on opposite sides of the law. Wolfwood has vowed to pursue Legato no matter the cost.

Warning: Violence, strong language, mentions of child abuse, strong sexual content, non-consensual sex. Maybe some timeline troubles. Not beta-read. Shock, horror, outrage!

Author's note: Get your pillows and blankets, this is going to be a long one. You're about to read over five chapters of story that have been edited together for your reading pleasure. Just shy of 40,000 words. This is the end, folks. Smoke 'em if you've got 'em.

---

needful: Future Tense

Part III

---

Two years from the day. July City.

The cat wouldn't come near him. He couldn't blame it.

Rather than be taken into custody by a "traitor," the man had put a bullet to his head and pulled the trigger without hesitation. Vash didn't know if bravery or cowardice led a man to take his own life, he only knew he disapproved either way. And that was putting it mildly.

Scanlon didn't behave as if he considered it too great a loss. Especially with the man's accomplices under arrest and loose with their talk and names. They had a million places to start looking, a million possible avenues. No, Scanlon wasn't too torn up about one dead criminal. Of course, he frequently inquired about Vash's wellbeing. Physically, he was fine. His head was a mess.

Beer helped. Thanks to the magical potion that was beer, his mind could swim away to better places. Sometimes while his head was lolling from side to side, he saw glimpses of the paradise he shared with Knives. He even got close enough to hear his brother's startled utterance of, "Vash?"

He shook his head and pulled away. Paradise dimmed. He didn't want to talk to his brother who was responsible for all the trouble in the first place. What he wanted was a confidante, one in particular.

He took another swig and glared at the phone. "Come on. Call, you jerk. You always call when I don't want you to, so call now when I need you to."

Clenching his fist so tightly that the longneck trembled in his hand he shouted, "Call, dammit!"

There was a long moment of silence.

And then the phone rang.

He answered it with remarkable calm. Placing the receiver to his ear, he settled back into the cushions of the couch.

"I couldn't save someone today," he said softly. A reply was the last thing he expected anymore. He rolled his head to the side and brushed his cheek against the cushion's soft fabric. "I'm feeling pretty alone here, buddy." The breathing on the other end was so quiet that the background noises of sirens and traffic overpowered it. So he was in a city this time.

"I need to talk to you. There's a lot going on now. I don't understand any of it. I need—" he began and swallowed. The beer made him feel foolish enough to say it. But he wouldn't.

There was a long, slow sigh from the other end. "You can't save the world," a voice said roughly. "Don't beat yourself up, kid."

Vash felt his mouth slide open on its own. Wolfwood had replied for the first time in two years of infrequent, frustrating phone calls that helped in some ways and made everything worse in others. His voice was just as gruff and smoky and it made Vash jerk to hear it after so long.

And with that, Wolfwood hung up and Vash found he was glaring at the phone again. So the advice had been absolute crap, but Wolfwood had spoken. Luckily, the stagnate situation between them upset him so bad that he stopped thinking about his suicide case and started thinking about exactly how hard he was going to make that punch when he finally saw Wolfwood again.

Yes, he was going to give Nicholas D. Wolfwood a shiner the size of Texas.

---

The next day. Augusta City.

They'd taken the task force on the road south to follow the leads from their last operation. They didn't talk about the events of a week before. They didn't talk about the haunted, dead look in their leader's eyes.

Instead, the team made jokes about him being so far away from his brother.

"Don't it bother you?" Descartes asked with a singsong condescension. "Don't you miss big brother?"

Vash had no reason to tell him that, no, he didn't miss him because he was always there. He could close his eyes at anytime and find him, now. The distance didn't make a bit of difference. Knives was a part of him, like a dream he couldn't forget.

So they traveled and hunted down clues and moved from field office to field office. Today, they trained.

Vash was in a bad mood and it wasn't anybody's fault. It wasn't even Wolfwood's fault. Not really.

It was...circumstance and bad luck and...

Well, Wolfwood, yeah, if he wanted to be honest. Wolfwood's fault he hadn't slept well. Wolfwood's fault he didn't think he would for a long time. His own fault for being a fool.

It certainly wasn't the new guy's fault. Julius was a good kid but today he just kept making the same mistake.

"That's the second time I've told you to disarm me and you've dropped me instead. The. Second. Time."

Vash held up his hand to stop Julius from protesting. "Listen, listen. You can tackle a guy—I damn well know that already. I need you to show me that you can get my gun without exposing yourself to the kind of danger that comes from being prone on top of a suspect."

Julius was red with exertion and sweating. Small and fair-haired, he usually wore a relaxed, open expression. Today he seemed on edge, as if he could feel the waves of frustration coming off of Vash. It affected him greatly simply because there was no one in the world like Vash. Quite simply, he idolized him, wanted to impress him, and today felt like he was two steps away from getting punched by him.

Vash hadn't even broken into a sweat yet and was holding the mock gun at his side in a death grip. Something must have happened, Julius realized. What could have made his easygoing boss turn edgy?

He nodded when he couldn't form a sentence in reply to Vash's harsh ridicule. Vash had never shown this side to him before. He was like another man entirely when he lost his temper, as it seemed he had. "Yes, sir. Sorry. I just...can't focus today."

"You and me both. Again."

Julius bit the inside of his cheek. From somewhere inside him he found the determination to get it right this time. It was a little sloppy, but he managed the twist and pull that had Vash's gun in his hand in roughly the amount of time Vash had requested.

"Hah!" he said when the pistol was a solid weight against his palm. "HAH!"

Vash smiled, for the first time since Julius' training had started that day. "Not bad, but don't get too cocky, Nick," he said. "That needs improvement. We'll practice it for another ten minutes and then break for lunch, okay?

Julius had been smiling, but it turned into a curious frown. "Um...yeah, okay. Yes, sir."

As ordered, they worked for another ten minutes and then grabbed their towels. They walked side by side to the locker room, talking about lunch. Finally, Julius couldn't hold it in any longer.

"Sir, who's Nick?"

Vash's step faltered and then he just stopped altogether. Julius stopped too, surprised by Vash's reaction.

"Why did you ask me that?"

Julius winced, already regretting his decision to bring this up at all. "You called me 'Nick' back there. You told me not to get cocky, but you called me 'Nick.' Who...who is he?"

Vash stared at his hands. The muscle at his jaw was jumping. "Sorry, I shouldn't have called you by that name."

"It's okay, everybody slips. I'm just worried. You seem...I don't know, sir. You're not yourself today. Do you want to talk?"

Vash's eyes widened in humor. The youthful, naïve Julius offering to be a comforting shoulder for a veteran was just a little beyond belief. Yet and still, he found himself tempted. He'd never confided with anyone save for the Doc back in July after Wolfwood went missing. He realized that he wouldn't mind a sympathetic ear, even if it belonged to a scrub of a kid straight out of academy.

"No," Vash said with a sigh at last. "Thanks, but no thanks." Julius looked brokenhearted.

Vash knew how he felt.

Julius wasn't the only one who worried about Vash and felt the urge to try to help. As the days slipped by, Marianne became more and more troubled. She watched Vash from across the table in yet another temporary base in yet another crowded field office. "Vash," she said and reached for his hand. He looked at her with eyes so distant and dead that she pulled back as if she'd been burned. Things were...not how she'd hoped they'd be.

Vash felt her disappointment. He just didn't have any idea how to help her any more than he knew how to help himself.

---

Julius had had nothing to report for a considerable amount of time and was pretty sure Vash was tired of him popping in on the radio to say as much. So he maintained silence. The guy was just standing there. Had been just standing there for a long, long time now. Perhaps that last lead had been a dud after all, but it had seemed legit.

His mark flipped up his collar, looking from side to side and studying the faces of the men who passed him.

Julius yawned. He had a bad feeling that the radio was going to be silent for a while. There was nothing going down tonight. And just as he thought that, he was proven wrong.

"Did you see that, boss man?" Julius asked.

"Missed it," Vash replied honestly. "What was it?"

"Somebody's heading straight for Meir."

Across the street, a second dark-haired man had appeared. He was tall and lanky and fast on his feet. In a second of watching him, Julius was certain that what Meir was waiting for was this lupine man. It was just a hunch and he had learned to trust those after working with Vash for over a year.

"Is he meeting him or just out for a stroll?" he wondered aloud.

Vash hadn't answered him, so Julius spoke again. "Sir?"

"I...Julius, private channel. Secure, please."

Without question, Julius did as requested. "We're clear," he said once he was certain they were. "What's up?"

"Don't let that man out of your sight," Vash said firmly. "Even if he splits with Meir, follow him."

"Is he with us?"

"No, he's definitely not with us, but he's involved."

"This one of your hunches?" Julius asked with a smile in his voice.

"No, this is one-hundred percent certainty. He calls himself Douglas Wolf these days and he doesn't look like much, but he's good at what he does. Keep close, but not too close."

On the street corner, Wolf strolled right by Meir and nothing was said. An instant later and Meir turned left while Wolf kept on walking his easy walk. Julius was intrigued. He knew, just knew, that somehow the men had communicated, that some information had been passed from one to the other. He just didn't know how.

"Oh, he's slick," he said offhandedly.

"Stick with Wolf," Vash said and there was something in his voice that Julius wanted, very badly, to understand, but couldn't.

"I'm on it," Julius said.

---

He understood that the man calling himself Douglas Wolf was a creature of habits within the first hour of tailing him. He made for a fascinating study. Near the river that snaked through the heart of the city, Julius tilted his head to the side and considered what he had learned.

He was scruffy, unshaven and probably could buy stock in cigarettes with the money that he spent on them. He smoked...'quite a lot' was an understatement. He smoked excessively. As for his mannerisms, his movements were smooth, but there was an anxiousness about him suggesting that holding still took work. He looked like a regular guy; perhaps a little down on his luck, but nothing quite as extraordinary as what he really was.

What he was, was good at his job. Julius had done a little searching about him with the van's computer. Douglas Wolf had been a busy guy over the past two years, moving about the country doing freelance work as an investigator. He'd done a lot of good. He'd had some close calls. Sometimes he couldn't keep his name out of the papers, though it was obvious he tried. Sometimes he seemed willing to bend and outright break the rules to get the job done. Julius got the feeling that 'Wolf' was a man who lived by the rule that the ends justified the means. He was hardly one of the bad guys, but he was walking a thin line.

If he wanted to, he could arrest Wolf right now for at least five different, justifiable reasons. Extradition would be the problem. It would probably come down to a matter of which state wanted his blood the most.

Julius watched him move with casual grace. Keeping up with him wasn't an easy thing to do. Wolf had the ability to disappear in a crowd or even on a deserted street corner like smoke.

Wolf was very good—tailing him took all his energy. He reminded Julius, effortlessly, of Vash.

Julius followed him to the riverside, wrinkling his nose at the smell that came from all around like heavy fog. A minute later and Wolf was entering the gaudy casino that sat on the water, an eyesore with its blaring lights and signs flashing through the shrinking daylight. As Julius waited and watched, a limo pulled up. What got out of it made his eyes go wide. What had seemed like a regular stakeout to determine Meir's connections and affiliations had quickly turned into something much bigger. He contacted Vash once again. "Boss," he said, "You better get out here. Something's going down."

---

Meir looked around impatiently. He didn't see his contact at all and if he wasn't going to come, why had he made it clear that he could? He didn't see the boss, either. What he saw instead was a mundane scene in a mundane, second rate casino bar. There were the average clowns all around.

There was a lanky blonde at one of the tables to his right who looked wistful as he listened to the music. He took a sip of his frothy beer every few minutes, but generally seemed lost in the kind of thoughts that men at bars tend to get lost in. His lank hair hung in his face and over his glasses. It was a miracle he could see to lift his beer at all. There were a few odd characters here and there—a very big man with a bad haircut, an older man with a pretty young girl on his arm having a winning streak at blackjack, a fresh-faced bartender who looked too young to even drink—but Meir wasn't worried. There were too many of their guys around here for someone to start something.

In the corner, one of his guys gave the signal. He nodded, then looked back at the table where the blonde had been. Oddly, he was gone. It made Meir frown, wondering how he had moved so quickly. He let it slide. Everyone was in position and the boss had arrived meaning he had other things to think about now.

It was a little bit like watching a god descend from heaven: he was a big guy and everything about him was over the top.

His name was Brilliance Dynamite Neon and truly no other name would fit him. He was loud, flashy, cocky, and somehow managed ruthless in between the lines. The girls hanging on each of his train-sized arms looked perfectly content to be there. It wasn't the false kind of gold-digging happiness some girls wore like diamonds; this was genuine contentment to be decoration for this man. Meir wondered if Neon was proof that size mattered, as it always did with women, no matter what they said.

Neon received justifiable attention as he entered. He gave Meir a nod and a smile in greeting, then turned to stare at what had caught his lieutenant's eye. Meir was looking over Neon's shoulder at a dark haired man in a dark suit who had just entered the bar. He was a scruffy guy with artful stubble and a nose two clicks too large. The dark circles under his eyes were vibrant enough to seem painted on. His suit jacket was dusty, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar in a messy way. Maybe he had been dashing once, but now he was down on his luck, down in general. This man didn't have any fight left in him.

Neon's eyes narrowed.

"Susie, Brandy, go buy daddy some smokes. Take your time coming back."

He slapped each girl in turn on the ass, making them squeak like scantily clad mice. They scampered off, and the dark haired man strolled up, hands in his pocket and cigarette glued to his bottom lip.

Neon's smile was expansive. "Well, it looks like we're all here. I'll make sure we aren't bothered." He raised a hand and signaled two large men in dark suits who circled nearby. They both nodded in silent understanding and looked hawk-like around the room, never straying far from their employer's side.

Neon was dressed in something from a bad 70's sex film or an episode of Miami Vice. The suit was white and the shirt beneath it loud, like the pattern had been made when a botanical garden became violently ill. His fingers glittered with gold and jewels. They flashed as he made a graceful gesture towards the vacant chairs across from his own. "Have a seat," he said.

The dark man sat with lazy ease, slouching in his chair and stretching his arm over the back. Meir was obviously less relaxed and sat rigidly.

"Douglas Wolf." Neon laughed once, loudly. "Mr. Wolf, you smell like cop. I could have pegged you from a mile away." His smile was hard. "And I understand from my esteemed colleague here that you're the new player in town. A high roller."

"I don't gamble," Wolfwood said with a smile. "And I'm not a cop. If you don't trust me, why'd you come?"

Neon looked steadily at Wolfwood. "Besides owing you for what you did for Jet? Hmm. I've heard talk about you. I hear talk about you and I don't always dislike what I hear. I don't always like it, either. You pick sides and switch sides and play both ends against the middle. I assume you'll be the thorn in the side of me and mine. If not now, then soon. I figured to meet you before you caused too much trouble. The kind of trouble that ends with you in a pair of concrete shoes at the bottom of a lake."

Neon flicked a piece of imaginary dust off his sleeve. "Are you going to cause me that kind of trouble?"

"That would depend on if you're willing to make a little deal or not."

Neon looked at the falsely innocent, smiling face and his own gruff expression showed that he didn't trust it one bit. "With the devil himself," he muttered.

"Devil? No, but I do like the color red. Let's be reasonable."

Meir nodded. He made to speak, but a pretty blonde waitress brought them their drinks. She gave a wink to Wolfwood who looked her up and down baldly. After she was gone, Meir spoke to his boss with comfort born of years of service. "Look, he shut a lot of the other guys down, but he did good by us. You know he did good by us. He needs information, and you owe him anyway. 'Sides, he's not coming to this empty handed. Believe me on this, boss. We can all help each other out a little, yeah?"

"Favors always bite you in the ass." Neon crossed his arms. "What do you want?"

Wolfwood sat forward. "Knives Millions. I want his foot soldiers gift wrapped nice and pretty for me."

Neon blanched. "You after them? Uh, uh. No way. I never tangled with those guys. I can't handle mooks who dip their fingers in all the pies."

"What's that in plain speak?"

"I mean you got your drug runners, yeah? They stick to their drugs, don't they? You get your gun dealers and your hit men. They're too trained to change horses in the middle of the stream, you follow? But what you don't have is guys selling drugs on Wednesday and then robbing a bank on Thursday only to kill a guy for no fuckin' reason you can figure on Friday. The boys who ran with Millions were some crazy bastards for all that they were flashy."

Wolfwood shrugged in agreement. "And all that may be true, but you're forgetting the bigger picture. I'm still willing to sweeten the pot. That's two favors for the price of one. Meir told you what I can do for you if you're willing to overcome your worries. My offer still stands."

"It sounds too good to be true. My mama always told me to watch out for things that sound too good to be true."

"But it's not is the thing. Plea bargains, reduced sentences, switched cells that help you run things on the inside—all of these things I can arrange. Easy. And all you have to do is get me Knives' high roller. Come on, what did Livio ever do for you but take your territory and cause you grief?"

Neon shook his head. "Livio is a dangerous man. I have a hard time believing that you outweigh him."

"But are you willing to risk losing a chance like this if you're wrong?"

In the end, Neon was not. They talked for a total of twenty minutes while the bustle of the casino around them hid most of their words from the overly curious. Finally, an agreement was reached. Neon stood, with a bemused expression on his long face. He shook Wolfwood's hand, then nodded in such a way that had his bimbos back on his arms in seconds flat. Meir stood alongside him, eyes nervously scanning the room.

"I like you, kid," Neon said to Wolfwood. "You seem honest enough that I can't even tell when you're lying to my face. After you get what you want, why don't you consider working for me? I could use a man like you."

Wolfwood tilted his head to the side. "I'll think about it," he said in that ambiguously honest way of his. Neon roared with laughter. Meir followed his boss from the casino, stopping to give an encouraging look over his shoulder at Wolfwood whom he liked despite himself. Once they were both out of sight, Wolfwood sighed and took a long drink of his beer. Then he looked around the casino, saw too many eyes trained on him, and decided to be elsewhere. Dealing with Neon was a risk he had been sure was necessary at one time. It was too late for second thoughts, but seeing these dangerous men glaring at him, he had them anyway.

He wasn't ready to call it a night and knew a pretty good snitch at a watering hole ten minutes south by taxi. He hailed one and settled back into the seat. Already, he was trying to think two steps ahead of both Neon and Livio. A full out gang war was a nice distraction, if not overkill. But he needed Livio out in the open, because Livio was Legato's go-to in this town. Was there a way to work this so that he could get to Legato before Legato got to him? He'd had bad luck in that department.

This bar was far removed from classy. It was a bar that reminded Wolfwood of his youth, a place to be a little rowdy. He sat at a table in the back and asked the waitress who brought him his drink, "Seen Spike?"

She shook her head. "You know how he is, never in one place too long. I heard he took that sports car of his on a fishing trip." Wolfwood thanked her and relaxed. It looked like he wasn't getting any work done tonight, so he might as well enjoy himself. He took a long sip of beer, closing his eyes as he tilted his head back.

When he opened them, it was to an unexpected sight: Vash standing by his table. He was too thin, his hair too long, and his eyes far, far too sad behind round framed glasses.

"You know, in one night, I think I've heard more than enough to put you away for life," he said in a steady tenor.

"Hiya, partner," Wolfwood said quietly, standing with the clear intention of getting out while the getting was good. The door wasn't too far away...

Vash stepped closer. "Going somewhere?"

But before he could get the first word of a reply out, Vash punched him square in the jaw.

Wolfwood went down and the ground was anything but welcoming. He thanked God for padding in strategic places. And dammit but Vash hit hard. People were staring at them, and really, that was just too embarrassing.

"Before you ask," Vash said through his teeth after the death stare Wolfwood gave him ended, "that was for that shitty ass goodbye you gave. I ought to hit you again."

Wolfwood stood shakily and looked Vash in the eye. "You get one free," he growled. "Don't try for another unless you want to see how I fight when I'm not on your side."

"Is that a threat, partner?" Vash asked, smiling, but in the least friendly way possible.

"No, it's a promise," Wolfwood replied.

"Well, two can play that game. I promise I'll have every federal agent in the area tracking you down if you don't cooperate with me peacefully and quietly."

"You didn't say the magic word."

"Please," Vash said coldly.

"Not good enough, so my answer is no. I'm not going anywhere with you. Stay away from me." He reached for a cigarette in his jacket, which made Vash go for his gun. Wolfwood smirked, lit the somewhat crumpled Marlboro and then turned away, a trail of smoke weaving through the air behind him. He froze when he heard a familiar click.

Suddenly, several unique looking men and women were clustering near the table. One of them, Wolfwood recognized as he peeked over his shoulder, was the pretty waitress who had flirted with him at the casino. The other guy had been betting at blackjack. He shook his head, feeling like a rookie. He was well and truly caught, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

He sighed. "Vash, you don't want to do that. You want to let me walk away before this gets uglier."

Vash turned to look over his shoulder at the scattered members of his team who were waiting for his orders. "You want me to take him in?" a big man with a bad haircut was asking. He looked familiar too, Wolfwood realized, feeling even more like a prize ass. "We've got enough on him."

The blonde Charlie's Angel reject nodded. "He could be the lead we're looking for. But he may have contacted help. Let's read him his rights before his friends show." She moved in and gave him a thorough pat down, taking his gun with a practiced air. Ordinarily, he would have enjoyed having such physical attention from a woman this attractive. Right now, he couldn't muster any enthusiasm. She took a step away from him, handing the gun to Vash who slid it discretely away.

"I don't need him arrested. I need him for questioning," Vash said with a smile that was cruel.

"Questioning?" Wolfwood repeated.

Vash seemed to have decided to play nasty to match Wolfwood, who was the master. "Didn't you know? You're wanted for questioning in a federal investigation. Even if you weren't I could always just book you for jaywalking or something."

Wolfwood turned back to him slowly, eyes cold and mouth pressed into a line of displeasure. "You've sunk pretty low in two years," he said for Vash's ears only.

"I can say the same to you." He settled into an empty chair with a long legged sprawl. His team looked anxious. Around the bar, a few customers had started to notice that something wasn't right. None of them were at an angle good enough to see the gun in Vash's hand, but it was only a matter of time. Vash didn't seem worried. "Take what we know back to Elizabeth and get started," he said to his team. "I'll stay with the suspect." He ignored their questioning expressions, and the worried ones on Julius and Marianne's faces.

They followed orders, as they always did.

"Have a seat," Vash said.

Wolfwood moved as instructed, but his eyes screamed murder.

---

The minute his team was out of sight, Vash put his piece away. Then he started talking. Wolfwood didn't necessarily like what he was hearing. He kept listening anyway. Vash held all the cards, there was nothing else he could do. He still looked angry, but not surprised as he said, "You're tracking his followers? You and that pack of wild dogs?"

"Yeah, is there an echo in here? And from the looks of it, I'm not the only one after Knives' crew."

Wolfwood shrugged and lit a cigarette. "I don't know what you're talking about, boss man. I'm just a regular private investigator."

"Like hell you are. Sticking to you might lead me to all kinds of interesting things. You know where to find the trouble."

"Too bad I'm out of here," Wolfwood said with a cruel, satisfied smirk. "The minute I finish this drink."

"Not as long as I say I have reason to keep you here," Vash returned with a vicious, toothy smile.

"And you plan to stop me how, Saverem?"

"I'm a federal agent. Like I said before, I'm pretty sure I can take you in for something."

Vash felt his jaw clench. After two years of searching for the man, he'd run into him accidentally, on a hunch, and he'd be damned if he knew how to react. Outside of the punch, he realized he hadn't planned this too well. And Wolfwood was doing everything in his power to push him away. Like always, only times fifteen. Vash glared at his chimney smoke ex-partner and tried to out think him.

After they eyed each other warily, each waiting for the other man to break first, Vash said, "Listen, between the two of us we know the whole story. You want answers about the case I'm working on? You want to know what me and my pack of 'wild dogs' has figured out? Then make a deal with me: you come in to the field office tomorrow—not as a prisoner, but as a consultant—and you talk to my crew. Just talk. I'll answer all your questions then."

"And in exchange?"

"You answer all our questions."

Wolfwood saw the inflexible line of Vash's jaw. "Just talk?" he asked.

"Just talk. Really: no pressure."

"Hrmph. And you'll let me go today just for somebody else to catch me tomorrow? That's not good enough. That warrant in Dallas? The one in St. Louis? I want them ixnayed. Disappear them for me and I'll consider your offer."

Vash's jaw worked double time. Finally, he gave a curt nod. "You've got a deal, but you better be damn forthcoming tomorrow."

"Open book and all that."

They shook on it.

Wolfwood fought not to smile at the idea of Vash driving a hard bargain. "So what do we talk about now?" he asked, taking a sip of beer and steadily regarding Vash over the rim.

Vash's regarded him steadily. "The night is young and the beers are on me."

---

They spent the first several minutes in silence, just looking at each other, Wolfwood on the sly. Vash was more open and frank about it, obviously attempting to figure out how much of Wolfwood's sour disposition was real and how much was an act. Wolfwood was sure he'd think of something to say to the other man once he got over the simple pleasure of just looking at him again.

Over the rim of his glass. When he was looking the other way. Whenever he was sure he wouldn't be caught.

"Nick, you've got to do something about that staring problem," Vash said. The fact that he had the same problem made the statement a little weak. "I mean, I'm just gonna have to bitch slap you if you don't."

Wolfwood shook his head. "I'm not staring and you've changed."

"Yes you are, and so have you." Vash drummed his fingers on the table once almost restlessly. "How have I changed?"

"The potty mouth is new for starters."

"'Potty mouth'? What?" Vash asked, trying not to laugh.

"I mean that you didn't curse back then. Not really."

"You try working with guys like my team and not picking up a colorful phrase or two."

"Bullshit. You worked with me for years and never picked up an accent. You didn't pick up my 'colorful phrases', either."

Vash was openly laughing at him now. "Well, I was trying to impress you, wasn't I? I don't have to impress these guys; they have to impress me. That and do what I say."

Wolfwood wore a soppy expression before asking, "You were trying to impress me?"

"Yeah, did it work?"

"Uh...you know," he said vaguely and stared down at nothing, wondering where his indignation had disappeared to. Then he coughed and took a sip of beer. "Maybe."

"You called on my birthday," Vash said suddenly. "Twice. Thanks. Every time I got five seconds of dead silence and then a dial tone, I knew you were thinking of me. It was nice. Kinda."

"Well, you know..."

"Now, the birthday calls I understood," Vash said when had Wolfwood proved his conversational aptitude, or lack thereof. "But what were those few times when there wasn't even a bank holiday, hmm?"

Wolfwood felt his face heat. "Vash, can we change the subject here?"

"No, I really think it's time we talked about a few things."

"We can always talk about things later."

"We were supposed to talk about things two years ago."

"Let it drop."

"Fuck. You."

Wolfwood almost dropped his cup. "W-what did you just—"

"I said, 'fuck you'. Are you deaf as well as selfish?"

Wolfwood slammed his hand onto the table. "I thought we were having a decent conversation here and you had to ruin it! You gonna take another swing at me, too? Where the hell did this come from?"

"It comes from you always thinking you have all the answers. You won't look at anything in a different way because you think you've got it all figured out. You think you know what's best and when you screw up you won't admit it."

Wolfwood pointed a fresh cigarette at Vash accusingly. "You know, you've got a funny way of treating a guy you threatened to arrest to keep around. And what did I do that was so terrible, eh?"

"You. Left."

Wolfwood gawked at him. He had a sinking feeling that this was the reason for the punch more than anything else. Not the shitty goodbye, but the leaving itself, which just proved that sometimes Vash was the one who only thought he had it all figured out. "Are you completely stupid?" he asked.

"Stupid for expecting more from you than a disappearing act? Yeah, maybe I should be counted as stupid for putting faith in you that you didn't deserve." And he couldn't meet Vash's eyes when they were like that: a little cold, a little inhuman.

Wolfwood winced—he alone had made Vash think these terrible things about him—but felt his lips moving despite the stab of pain and self-disgust that went through him. "Did you have any idea what was at stake? Do you have any idea what kind of decision that was for me to make? It wasn't easy and maybe it was a rotten thing to do, but I weighed my options and that was the only way to—"

"To protect Milly, yes I know," Vash interrupted with something like bitter in his voice.

Wolfwood found himself wincing again, this time at a memory. He could still hear the sound in his mind, the absence of a heartbeat, a chilling body contorted on the ground before him. The sound of his own breath pouring into Vash's empty chest.

"You don't know anything," he said, finally.

Vash tried and failed to keep his voice from rising. "Well maybe I would if you'd tell me something for once. I do know you ran away when you should have stayed and now you're killing yourself."

"I am—"

"You're giving your best to the bottle and you know it." He pointed to the collection of empties by Wolfwood's elbow. "Yeah?"

Wolfwood looked at the hard lines of Vash's jaw and then finally into those flinty eyes and saw the hurt, worry and confusion underneath it all. Right then and there decided that Vash could be mad at all him all he wanted. He wouldn't change a thing about what he 'd done, even if he had the chance to, simply because Vash was here with him, alive and breathing.

"Leaving was the best thing I could have done."

"If you had stayed—"

"If I had stayed? Listen to yourself! You're not as dumb as you seem so fucking think! If I had stayed! You know where things were going with us. We'd have jumped right in without a seconds thought and you'd have been dead the next day." He regretted yelling. Almost.

Some of the men and women at surrounding tables were staring at them, for all that it mattered, and he'd had enough anyway. As far as he was concerned, the argument was over. "Go back to your drinks, show's over," he said and even smiled. They did, a few with lingering looks.

Wolfwood seethed solitarily with his beer and it was Vash's turn to be quiet and thoughtful. After a moment he said in a tentative voice, "You left to protect Milly," as if he actually wanted to keep fighting.

"No."

Like a child certain that they're right, Vash tried again. "You left to—"

"Shut up. Just shut up," Wolfwood said without bite. Vash did, but only because it was easier that way

Wolfwood wanted to hit the table again, but knew it wasn't as satisfying as really hitting something that could feel it. He struggled to keep his voice quiet so as not to disturb the bar again. "You don't fucking know anything." Vash's eyes were confused and even angry.

"I guess maybe I thought I knew you. You're going to tell me I was wrong?"

"Maybe."

"Well then fill in the gaps. After all this time, I want answers," Vash growled.

"Yeah, well you can fucking have them," Wolfwood said just as angrily.

Vash pulled back, sat forward, and then pulled back again. Confusion had completely destroyed his anger. "What does that mean?"

"Hell, I don't know. If you're tired of this shit and I'm tired of this shit, can't we just...call a no more secrets rule or something?" he asked, rubbing his face heavily.

Vash suddenly stopped breathing. "No more secrets? Does that mean...what does that mean?"

"Whatever you think it means. What it sounds like. I don't want any of this crap between us anymore, okay?"

Vash swallowed. "Yes, okay." He paused and added, "So I guess we better, you know, talk."

"Yeah. We can talk," Wolfwood said softly.

A few minutes after, when pliers couldn't have torn their eyes off each other, Vash raised his half-empty beer. "Cheers, " he said in a voice as soft and layered as incense smoke.

"To what?"

"To partners, of course."

---

A beer later and they were arguing again.

Wolfwood was currently saying something about Vash's glasses, which he claimed to dislike. Vash was defending his glasses and offering his own complaint that Wolfwood needed a haircut.

Wolfwood called him something—or maybe it was his mother—and then yoinked Vash up by his collar. He slammed some money onto the table, cursed again when it wasn't enough to cover the bill, and then, with Vash's help, managed to assemble the odds and ends of coins into the exact amount. No tip.

The argument continued as they stumbled to the door. They sniped and snarled and both got the feeling they weren't really arguing about what they were arguing about. And they both knew it was about small, mundane things, but their voices were loud enough that the people at other tables stopped talking to glare at them as they made it out the door.

"Aren't you supposed to be some kind of secret agent man or something? Do glasses scream 'secret agent man'? No, I'll tell you what they scream: 'dork in glasses.' Yes, that's exactly what you're screaming: 'doo-dah dork in glasses.'"

"And I guess you're gonna win sexiest man alive with hair that looks like it's slowly eating your head!"

"When I'm bald, you complain. When I have too much hair, you complain! You must be too damn nearsighted to see a good hairstyle when you see one!"

They fell into step again. In the space between them, there was nervous anticipation. It was an unspoken understanding that something was about to break.

The cab driver was obviously accustomed to dealing with drunks. He spoke slowly and at a level loud enough for them to make sense of easily. It was all a bit wasted on them sense they hadn't had enough to even get a foot in the door of drunkenness. Still, they both appreciated the effort.

"Where to?" the driver asked when the pair climbed inside and Vash turned to Wolfwood and repeated, "Where to?"

"Oh, I have to pick a place now?"

Vash just lifted an eyebrow at him.

"Fine! My place?" Wolfwood said with mock huffiness. "Yours is probably all Mission Impossible with trip wires and bugs and retinal access panels."

"The agency isn't that paranoid."

"Oh, no?" he droned. "That hot Marianne chick stared daggers at me. She acts like she's your one-woman bodyguard service. Or owner of valuable private property."

"All in a day's work," Vash said and shrugged. He wouldn't rise to the bait, and Wolfwood glared at him. He gave instructions to the house he was currently renting and then sat back to enjoy the small buzz in his head that was only half from alcohol. They spoke little during the drive. Instead, they stared out into the nighttime of the city and thought their own thoughts.

Wolfwood's house was nothing Vash thought he should be paying for. He considered that the landlord should pay him to live there, instead. It was drab and gray and leaning a little. Luckily, the inside showed that someone had taken the time to fix it up. The bedroom was even spacious and the bed large and comfortable-looking. The kitchen was even 'nice' if he wanted to be generous. Like Wolfwood himself, the outside of the building had given little idea as to what was going on inside.

Inside, Wolfwood got them both coffee and a beer just in case. He could still hold several more, but Vash was a grade below him when it came to tolerance.

"Another beer?" he asked.

"Nah," Vash said and reached for the coffee.

"Crashing here?"

Vash pulled a sheepish look from his bag of tricks. "If I can. I promise I don't snore."

"I'll have to take your word for it," Wolfwood agreed and stood. He gestured at where Vash was sitting. "You can have the couch if you want. There's fresh linen in the hall closet," he said and his hand flew in that direction. He gestured one last time, to the room behind him, and added, "or there's the bed."

There was a moment of silence, both men watching each other, waiting.

Vash thought momentarily about making a bad joke about his taking the bed and Wolfwood sleeping on the couch, but now was hardly the time for that, especially when that wasn't what either of them wanted. A joke like that would ruin everything.

There was no need for Wolfwood to clarify what he meant and didn't mean.

And Vash, in reply, didn't gasp or act surprised or smile like an idiot or rejoice. He didn't change expressions at all. He said, simply: "I'll take the bed, if you don't mind."

Wolfwood just shook his head, a finite, stiff gesture. It was as if he didn't trust himself to speak. He didn't move, but waited for Vash to stand, cross the small room and join him before the doorway.

"You're not just being dumb, are you?" he asked quietly. "You're sure?"

In reply, Vash just angled his head towards the bed, indicating destination and intent. Wolfwood didn't ask again. They were supposed to talk and to hell with that.

The entered the room together and even then they didn't touch. Instead, Wolfwood pointed at the bedside lamp.

"Off or on?"

"Do you have a dimmer?"

"Yeah."

"Then how about halfway?" And that was such a Vash thing to think—in shifting shades of grey—that Wolfwood smiled. He turned the dial and the light went soft and unclear like an auditorium going quiet before a show.

They stood beside the bed and very slowly began to undress each other. There wasn't a tremor of hand to be found because, whatever else happened, they were partners and this was right. Vash carefully sat his glasses on the bedside stand. Wolfwood sat his lighter beside them. And after a forever of waiting they were bare to the waist and there was much to see.

Vash's eyes traveled over Wolfwood's chest with worry and want battling for control. Wolfwood felt a similar shock, remembering how smooth and clean Vash's body had once been, back when he would sneak glances in the showers at work, only to see it now, dappled with scars of unknown origin. He forced air through his teeth, lifted his hand and touched the one over Vash's heart. The beat beneath his hand was a steady, heavy thrum. Suddenly, he found his hand taken and brought to Vash's mouth. His knees went weak when Vash kissed each and ever one of his fingers. With his eyes closed and his mouth red and glistening, Vash sent his mind into flickering red lust.

He pulled his hand away, got Vash around the back of his neck and pulled him forward. Their first kiss and he was so hot for it he barely even felt it. Vash made a gasping, hiccup of a sound and opened his mouth for more. Wolfwood gave it to him.

And here it was, proof of what Vash had needed to know all night. It made him hotter just thinking that the coldness from before had been an act because all along Wolfwood had wanted this and had been fighting it.

They both tasted like beer and there were nighttime noises outside the curtained windows and the hum of the lamp and the texture of the floor under his feet as he kicked off his shoes—all these mundane things made this real, more sensations to make the moment undeniable.

Wolfwood's hands followed the bumps that went down Vash's back to the curve of his ass, pulling Vash's hips and hardness against him. Vash rolled into the motion once, twice, and then steadily over and over again. They weren't going to make it to the bed. They were going to rub themselves off on each other and it wasn't what Wolfwood had imagined for their first time.

He spread his legs wider, tossed his head back and used his hands to guide Vash's fingers to his wrists. There was the slightest pressure, and then a little more. He showed him how hard he wanted it as Vash kept loving his body wherever he could with his mouth and teeth. Finally, it was hard enough to make him cry out.

"Yes!"

Then suddenly Vash wasn't holding his wrists anymore, and his kisses tapered down to chaste kisses in between long breaths. And when it had seemed like he was going to come too soon, Wolfwood now felt like release was miles and miles away. This wasn't what he wanted. If this was too slow, he'd have time to think. He didn't want to think right now.

Vash stroked his face and hair until Wolfwood's breathing was even. "Why?" Wolfwood asked.

Their eyes met and Vash said, breathlessly, "I know it's what you want, Nick, but I can't do it. I can't hurt you." He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. "I can't."

"Vash—"

"I can't give you what you want."

Wolfwood lifted his hand and dug his fingers into the short hairs at the back of Vash's neck. Shock at the unexpected roughness widened Vash's eyes. "Nick...I...?"

The stormy look in Wolfwood's eyes said 'shut up' when he would never say it himself. "Dammit, Vash. I don't need that from you. I never did and I never will," he hissed and brought their mouths back together. And it was the truest thing he had ever said to Vash: No matter how fucked up his mind was, no matter how obsessed with pain and submission he became, that's not what being with Vash meant to him. And if his body had said differently, it was just because—

Because there was a difference between what you really want and what your body can take. When was the last time this had been completely mutual and mutually wished for? And hell, he knew for a fact he'd never wanted someone so much for so long in his entire life.

"This is what I want," he growled.

"God!" Vash said and his head fell back as Wolfwood slithered his hand down his pants, wrapped his fingers around his cock and squeezed.

"Give it to me, Vash. Come on. I want it."

Vash's pants came down with a violent tug; Wolfwood's slacks were tossed to the side with a fair amount of stumbling. They pawed and clutched at each other, sloppy and uncaring. It was good just like this.

Vash breathed out, "I want you on a bed." He ran his tongue up Wolfwood's jaw and then along the shell of his ear.

Wolfwood shuddered. Right in the middle of the floor had actually been okay with him so long as it meant he could have Vash. He gave in, simply because he wanted to continue doing what they were doing, only horizontally where the mechanics of standing wouldn't be in the way.

Getting to the bed proved easier than they thought it would be. It was closer than lust had made it seem.

There was all this Vash spread out before him and Wolfwood couldn't decide which part to taste first. In fact, he was having trouble with the idea that it was okay to touch at all, which was just ridiculous because Vash wouldn't be naked in bed with him if this weren't okay.

"I don't care where you start, just start somewhere," Vash said with a hint of exasperated affection in his voice.

So Wolfwood pushed him back. The somewhere he picked was Vash's forehead, where he pushed the hair off of his face. Then he ran his hands down his neck, over his collarbone, along the sides of his chest and then down to his bellybutton. He pressed down as he slid further towards the junction of Vash's thighs. Finally, his thumbs were butting against the base of Vash's erection. He let them pass around and then meet again at the underside. Then he slid them up in a light, exploratory touch. Vash was once again smooth and hot against the pads of his fingers. He didn't startle when Vash suddenly got a hold of his hand and moved it further back.

"Okay?" he asked, breathlessly.

Wolfwood made a hissing noise through his teeth and licked his lips. "Yeah, we can do that," Wolfwood answered, leaned down and kissed Vash. Then he sat up again, moving away. "Wait a minute."

"I'm not sure I can, here."

"Try."

There was a bit of fumbling as Wolfwood reached for the bedside stand. "Sorry," he said and returned to Vash's side with a condom a moment later. Vash's eyes fell on the condom, sharp with some emotion Wolfwood couldn't name.

He tried to explain. "It's just in—"

Vash interrupted with, "I know, and it's okay. I...appreciate your caution."

Wolfwood looked mildly worried, but then relaxed at Vash's understanding expression. The package was ripped open and gently, the condom carefully rolled down over Vash's erection.

"Wolfwood, I—" Vash said nervously, trying to sit up. A hand on his chest pushed him back down.

"Let me," Wolfwood said and finished. "Is this okay?" he asked.

Vash shook his head weakly. "It was never like this in my...well, I was kind of thinking you'd—"

"I want you," Wolfwood interrupted. His voice was somehow needy and matter-of-fact at the same time, which made Vash quiet immediately. It had something to do with his mouth going suddenly dry at the idea of Wolfwood—who was sexy and mysterious—admitting that he wanted him, who was just Vash.

Wolfwood went back to the drawer once again—this time for a bottle of lube—and pushed it towards Vash. And it was the practical things like this that got left out of fantasy that made this so very real.

"Take it," he said, voice low on a note of penitence.

So Vash did. He squeezed a liberal amount onto his hand and rubbed it between his fingers. Wolfwood rolled, slowly, back and caught at one of Vash's lube-coated hands, pulling him along. The scars on Vash's wrists added strange texture to the pale skin and he stroked his thumb along them. Finally, after years of waiting, Vash was sliding between his legs, pressing his skin to Wolfwood's and there was nothing else that needed to be done, nothing left to get in the way.

The hand he held resisted, at first, when he guided it down to where he wanted it to be. Vash's eyes looked both wanting and worried. It took moments of edgy but understanding tolerance on Wolfwood's part, but finally a finger was probing at his entrance. Slick with lube as it was, the tip pushed through and past. Vash made a husky noise of approval. Clearly his reluctance before hadn't been from inexperience, but from worry of a kind based on indelible memory. Vash knew too much about him and what he was to go into this frivolously.

"Jesus, Nick," Vash said, wonder in his voice.

"Move," was the breathless reply. It made his eyes snap up from where his finger entered the pink pucker to Wolfwood's tense face. He was...'close' was the most fitting word that Vash could find. Wolfwood looked like he would come from being fucked by a finger alone. Vash shuddered and added another.

Wolfwood hissed and arched off the bed. "Fuck."

"Just fingers, buddy," Vash teased.

"I know that but...it's all in my fucking head," Wolfwood tried to explain. The expression wouldn't have made sense to anyone else, but Vash understood: wanting this for so long and finally getting it had made it into a too-intense experience. Every sensation was heightened to extremes.

Vas's fingers pumped in once, twice, and were going for a third when Wolfwood reached down, ripped Vash's hand from inside himself and spoke with a shaking voice.

"That's enough. I'm ready."

"Hell, I'm not. This isn't going to last very long."

"I don't care, do it now."

Vash pulled back, maneuvered a pillow under Wolfwood's hips, which only made him grouchier and more insistent, and then came back down. With Wolfwood's hands guiding him and his own holding him up, the task was accomplished.

"Is it—?"

"Yes. Nng...I feel...don't stop..."

The head popped through the barrier and both men gasped and then groaned as the long, smooth shaft slid in steadily, pushing hard and spreading Wolfwood more and more.

"I'm—"

"Yes."

"Oh, my god you're...ah..."

Vash felt his eyes roll up into the back of his head and realized his breath was coming in short, high-pitched sounds. Dammit, he really wasn't going to last long.

"Ahh, Nick, this...aahhh," he tried to speak and breathe at the same time and it only made his cock twitch when he felt the muscles contract around him. He wasn't even seated properly, still more of him left to go to fill Wolfwood completely. Wolfwood was more than aware of this because he suddenly splayed his hands across Vash's ass and pulled hard.

"More. Now," he demanded. They finally ground together, melded like iron over heat. Ass against groin, sweat mingling.

He collapsed atop Wolfwood's chest, felt his cock leaking, ready to burst. There was a nipple by his mouth and he wanted to lick at it, but was pretty sure more stimulation was the last thing he needed. He tried to think about something else, not how good it felt. It was all Vash could do as his mind and body tried to reconcile all the fantasies with the reality. He was here, now. Fantasies crumbled because they weren't in Wolfwood's office or in the back of his jeep or any of the other places he used to imagine this might happen.

"I know what you mean about it all being in your head, now," Vash said softly, squeezing his eyes together and sweating. When Wolfwood didn't, reply, Vash looked up at him. His dark head was rolling gently from side to side, his eyes closed and his mouth open, gasping for air.

"Nick, are you—"

"You feel good," Wolfwood explained in a rush of air. "You feel so fucking good."

Somehow, it was what he needed to hear. His breathing steadied.

He pushed himself up onto his arms a moment later, looked down at the flushed face of his partner and then down at his leaking erection, freed from the prison of their pressed bodies. Rolling down slowly, closer to that bruised mouth with his own, open, begging to be filled. No sooner had the kiss began than Vash was sliding out, thrilling at the muscles massaging his cock, and then pushing back in.

Wolfwood's body-arching reaction was poetry. He hit the bed hard and gasping.

"Again," he huffed once his breathing was controlled.

And then, "Ahhh...God...there," when Vash went deeper, brushed over where he needed him most.

And, "Again. Fuck, I need this," when they found a rhythm that was a little jerky, somewhat off, and damn good.

Bringing his leg up and around Vash's waist opened him up in ways that had him feeling Vash like he never thought he would outside his daydreams. And Vash's strokes didn't falter, even when his face showed how he was fighting to stay in the game. Wolfwood bent to his rhythm, picked it up and mimicked it.

Sweat poured down their bodies, dripped from the long ends of Vash's hair onto Wolfwood's damaged chest. It made them slick where they joined and Vash used that to make a frictionless, circular grind when he slammed in again.

Wolfwood cursed.

"God, you're so—" Vash tried and cut himself off with a high gasp.

And now it was a perfect. They'd always worked well together, reading each other's movements, knowing each others thoughts. Birds of a feather and all that.

"Need this," Wolfwood grunted and kissed whatever of Vash he could reach, the side of his face, his shoulder. Vash moved, caught Wolfwood's leg and pulled it higher, folding him neatly in half, and then leaned over. Their lips could meet now and it was what they'd both wanted, which made the pain in Wolfwood's back worth it. It was all tongue, wet and messy. The stroke of Wolfwood's tongue along the roof of his mouth made Vash suddenly speed up, ready to let go and give everything to Wolfwood.

"With me?" he asked.

"Can't. Touch me," Wolfwood whispered. It was awkward to get his hand down between them and around Wolfwood's cock, but he managed. It didn't take long. Wolfwood clawed at the sheets, arched high and screamed when Vash spilled inside him. And he had no one to blame but himself that the condom was there, keeping him from feeling more.

Vash jerked through his own orgasm, squeezing Wolfwood's cock almost painfully when he couldn't control himself. He was almost sobbing with how good it was, his face hot and his eyes stinging. He fell atop Wolfwood, his body still trying to take him even with a softening cock and no energy. It seemed to know that nothing this good needed to end.

It was silent, outside of their panting, as if the night had stopped to listen to them. Vash could move first and he did, pushing up onto his arms to slither their bodies together. It was easy with the sweat and come and the lube. He tossed his head, first to nip at Wolfwood's neck on the left, and then again to lick along his neck on the right. Wolfwood's hands came up, holding him inside when he would have pulled out.

Vash let him for a moment and then said, "No good." Then breathlessly he eased out. They both made a tiny grunt at the last, the head coming free of the tender ring of muscle. With a quick kiss, Vash stood and silently padded to the bathroom. He was gone for a minute, disposing of the condom, and returned with a damp towel. His expression was oddly content as he wiped down Wolfwood's body. They were quiet as the ritual continued, as if they feared noise would ruin something that could never be duplicated.

Vash used a corner of the towel to dab at Wolfwood's forehead, pushing his hair back off his face. Wolfwood watched him with heavy-lidded eyes. "You, next," he said, but he didn't move to take the towel and Vash would have blushed if he hadn't already been red from head to toe.

"Oh," he said. "Oh."

But he gave Wolfwood the show he was asking for, hesitantly at first, toweling himself off slowly.

"There," Wolfwood ordered and Vash kept the towel over his nipple as commanded. He stimulated himself with small, tight circles. His mouth fell open and he fought to close it again.

"Good. Now lower. Lower. Yes."

When he brought the towel between his legs, his head fell to the side. "Don't stop," Wolfwood whispered.

"Nick—"

"Shhhh..."

He watched, waited, and then smiled when Vash involuntarily jerked against his own hand.

"Just like that."

Vash's voice went a little high, undulating in time to his own rhythm; then it was low and throaty as he continued fucking himself for Wolfwood. "Mmmm...ahh...Nick...ah, ahh...I'm gonna—"

"Yeah, I like that."

Vash's hips moving up and down and the towel a crumple of damp fabric between his sex-sweat thighs: incendiary images to scorch his mind. Wolfwood was erect again and wondered how he'd worked with Vash as long as he had without sporting a permanent hard-on. Vash was just sexy. Long and sexy and passionate and everything. Just...everything.

He hurt inside, but he still wanted another go. He ached in pain and need.

"I still want you," Wolfwood said with soft surprised. "Why is that?"

Vash's whole body rolled against his hand. "I want you, too. I want...Please."

"Yes," Wolfwood said. "Lay down."

He crawled forward until he was above Vash, looking down at him as if tired was something he would never become, not while he had Vash ready and spreading beneath him.

The lube was easy to find and Vash was ready: his body was thrumming with it. "This is how you imagined it?" Wolfwood whispered. His fingers were steady and purposeful. The heat around them made him feel wild and untamable.

Vash, flushed and panting, was a pretty sight. "Always."

Another condom opened, another regret sitting heavy in his mind. And Vash was watching him like he could read it in his face and that hurt.

But pushing into Vash was a little like coming home. Good even with the condom and if only he could feel it without. If only.

"Ah..." Vash choked and his voice was thick and broken.

"Stay with me. Ride it out, stay with me."

"I...I always...God, Nick." And Vash squeezed his eyes together and felt his body sing a high, sour pitch as he was filled. By Nick. Again and again and it was never as hard as he could take because he wanted to disappear and just be the place where they fit together: tight and burning and slick with sweat and come. It was too much and not enough and he'd die if Wolfwood stopped. Seated, merged, fucking melting together.

"I can feel you, I-I..."

"Vash!" Nick cried. His back arched into a bow and he held the position, driving into where he needed to be.

Yes, home and so much more.

---

They dozed off and on, waking to alertness in the early hours of the morning when the world was still steeped in darkness. Wolfwood was on his side staring down at Vash, wondering to himself when he'd get tired of it and when he'd become such a sap for being sure he never would. Vash was running his fingers in circles over Wolfwood's shoulder, noticing the contrast between his pale to Wolfwood's tan.

It was the fact that neither of them seemed inclined to move or leave that made Wolfwood speak.

"All right, you fess up. Why'd you never do anything? We both knew for ages, maybe from the beginning. You were as big a coward as me."

Vash paused as he gathered his thoughts to explain. "I never did anything because I was pretty sure you never wanted to be touched again."

Wolfwood averted his eyes. "I guess I can see how you got that idea. Hell, you've seen me at my worst."

"I thought you were going to bleed to death," Vash admitted, referring to the time back in July when he'd crashed into a "Guest Room" at one of the more infamous S&M clubs to take Wolfwood away from his voluntary submission to pain. Earlier that day, they had fought, and Wolfwood had felt abandoned. The only thing that had made it hurt less inside was pain. Real pain.

"Well, you don't have to worry about that. This isn't about that," Wolfwood said stiltedly. "This makes me forget all that."

Wolfwood admitting anything so personal was as likely as winning the lottery or being struck by lightening, Vash figured. In appreciation, he might as well try his hand at it too.

"Good to hear," he said softly. "It makes me feel...that's just it. I feel."

Wolfwood sunk backwards onto the bed and shifted slowly so that his legs made just the right amount of space for Vash to fit between.

"Come here," he said.

Vash took the invitation. Then their half-hard erections lay together hot and ready for more even when every other part of them was sore and needing a break.

"Jesus, Nick," Vash panted and pressed in. Wolfwood got his hands up and around Vash's back and squeezed only to freeze in fear and worry when Vash cried out in pain.

"What? Are you okay?" Wolfwood dropped his hands away immediately. "Did I hurt you?"

"Not you," Vash hissed. "Work related injuries."

He was careful when he moved once again, pushing Vash onto his stomach to look at his back. He had no idea how he had missed it before during their enthusiastic lovemaking. The skin beneath Vash's shoulder was abraded and red with the beginnings of an infection.

"Concrete hurts," Vash said dramatically. Wolfwood was too busy examining the rest of Vash's scarred back to call him a name for the over-the-top routine. He saw a jagged line that reached around his side and rolled Vash once again, following it to where it ended beneath his ribs.

"You've added a few here and there."

"Here and there," Vash agreed and snuggled down on his back.

"I like a good war story as much as the next ex-cop. Fill me in. These I know," he said and pinned Vash's wrists above his head, his thumbs tracing the matching scars that circled them. Vash shuddered just a little, liking the restraint a little more than he thought he should.

Wolfwood obviously noticed because he pressed down harder. He waited until Vash's breath hitched before releasing him and moving to the faint scar on his forehead. Vash scowled at him for the tease.

"And this one I'm damn familiar with." Wolfwood said, ignoring the scowl.

"Freakin' Louisville Slugger, I'm telling you."

"It wasn't a Slugger."

"Yes, it totally was."

Wolfwood ran his fingers around a set of bite marks "Kaite's dog, right?"

"Beast was a menace."

"And this?"

Vash scrunched up his belly to look where Wolfwood was pointing. "Um...gun fight."

"Maybe I don't want to know the details?"

"No, maybe you don't," Vash said and laughed lamely. "Yeah..."

"Yeah..."

"And this one?" Wolfwood asked. It was a surgically clean circle, half a centimeter in diameter, at the crook in his arm. It looked as if it had once held a tube.

Vash took a moment to answer and when he did it was with forced brightness. "That's nothing, just another injury from work."

Wolfwood's eyes narrowed. "I see."

The eyed each other—Vash with badly disguised, nervous worry and Wolfwood with a more skeptical version of the same—before Wolfwood broke the uncomfortable moment by taking advantage of their newfound intimacy. The scar on his chest was just too perfectly placed for him not to take advantage of it. He made wet, contended noises, lapping at Vash's miraculously still intact nipple.

Vash squirmed prettily beneath him and then moaned when his mouth went down lower and then lower.

"Oh no, stop. Stop!" Vash said breathlessly. "Don't look at me like that, I'm serious. It's my turn. Let me look at these." He nudged him with his foot and Wolfwood grunted.

"You've seen them plenty of times."

"Not really," Vash countered. "Come on, shove over."

With a resigned sigh, he scooted up, dropped onto his stomach, cushioned his head on his arms and gave Vash a one-eyed squint. "Happy?"

"Yep." Without another word, he shifted, rocking the bed with his lanky movements until he was straddling Wolfwood's legs. Wolfwood gasped when the first long finger stroked down one of the deeper, older scars. Many of them were thick and all of them shiny white, scar tissue raising them up like Braille or sinking them down like ditches. The thin, flat wrinkled scars were strange as the fatter ones covered them, burying them under their wormlike twists. It was as if the lines told the sad story of life getting harder, more painful.

Silently, Vash continued to traverse the crisscrossed patterns and gashes and Wolfwood wasn't ready for the kisses that followed the touches.

"Vash," he hissed, "don't," but his hips pushed hard into the mattress once, and then twice, rhythmically.

"Why?"

"They're...they have nothing to do with you and me."

"Oh, yeah. They really do," Vash said and let his tongue trace up, to where a particularly nasty-looking scar stood out starkly across his shoulders. Wolfwood involuntarily clutched at the blankets and turned his head into the pillow.

"Jesus, Vash," he said. "You just don't know."

"Then tell me."

Wolfwood almost knock him off as he turned onto his back. Vash regained his balance and found himself in the not-so-bad position, straddling Wolfwood's hips in a very interesting place. He made the most of the it, shifting just so.

"Mmm...do you want to hear this or what?"

Vash stilled. "Right. Okay. You were saying?"

"Adopted," Wolfwood said matter-of-factly. "Same as you, only half a dozen times more." He paused to laugh without humor. "It was the second to last time where I got those 'older' ones."

Vash listened, afraid to say anything to make Wolfwood stop. Afraid that he'd keep speaking. Just afraid.

"He was a church man. A zealot. Like the kind you see on TV, screaming at the funerals of dead gay boys, saying they're gonna burn in hell. Nice guy. I don't have a clue why they let him adopt. He beat the Good Word into me. Sometimes with the Good Book. Those scars are from the times he used...other things. And it wasn't just beatings. Of course it was more." He looked away, rolling his head to the side, refusing to look at Vash at all. His olive skin seemed even darker against the white of the pillow. "Dammit, Vash, I don't talk about this."

"I'm sorry," Vash said quickly. "You don't have to. I'm sorry for bringing it up."

"Don't be." He paused and took a breath. "You wanted to hear it and I want you to hear it. That way at least you can know what the hell you're getting into. Every time he took off his belt and beat me, well, yeah, the pants followed, didn't they? And do you know what he said?"

Vash shook his head dumbly, his throat coated thick, but he couldn't swallow.

"He said it was my fault, that I drove him to do it, being what I was. Walking like I walked, talking like I talked. Said I had the devil in me and that he knew how to drive it out. And now I'm this fucked up and worse. I've got this idea in my head that sex comes with pain and you're the exception, not the rule."

"Nick…"

"Hey, the sooner I finish, the better, yeah? So, long story short: he kept a gun and I knew where it was."

Vash's eyes widened and before he could school his features, Wolfwood saw the shock, the disgust. His voice was bravado-hidden hurt when he spoke again. "So now you know what I am. Do you regret this now?"

He flinched when Vash's delayed answer was a gentle caress of his cheek. "You told me once that you shot and killed a little boy when you were on duty during a robbery. You said he wasn't the first person you killed. I understand now. You've had...a very hard life," he said. "How o—"

"Seven," he snapped out unintentionally. "I was seven years old. The bastard's buried here, you know. He had family here. Maybe they're the only ones who miss him."

And with those words, an unpleasant truth was somehow confirmed for Vash: Wolfwood did not regret what he had done. If given a chance, he'd do it again. Vash swallowed. "What happened next?"

"Next is no surprise. The first on the scene was an up and coming cop named Forrester Henry."

"The chief?" Vash asked, thinking of their gruff but loving chief from years ago, back in the city of May when Wolfwood had been hot on the trail of the Leatherman killer.

"The one and the same."

"You were adopted by the chief?"

"Like I said, he wasn't a chief then."

Vash's face showed that his mind was putting a few things together quickly. "You always said the chief let you get away with murder."

"I was being literal." He stretched a little, used the action to rub against Vash, and it still felt good even if they were talking about dark things.

Vash shook his head. "There's a lot I never knew about you, isn't there?"

"Yeah, but that's hardly news." He gave Vash his most charming smile and let his hands start moving again, stroking up and down, teasingly.

"Uh-uh, Mr. Evasive," Vash laughed. "I'm nowhere near done."

Wolfwood's eyes widened and then narrowed. "Come on, buddy. I know I said no secrets, but a guy has to have some sometimes."

"That only works for women."

"No, no, it really doesn't."

Vash refused to fall into the trap of joking with Wolfwood and instead let his eyes roam down over Wolfwood's chest. They went to the side, followed the ridges of his bones and muscles down to his stomach. The lines here were fresh.

Sweeping his hands lightly over those scars like sweeping away the dirt of years, Vash's expression was unreadable. His palm settled over a set of red scrapes angling over Wolfwood's ribs.

"These aren't old," was all he said. The temperature of the room dropped ten degrees, or so it seemed to Vash.

Wolfwood swallowed once, reflexively. Vulnerability melted into defensiveness in the lines of his face. "You just had to go there, didn't you? You always have to know everything. Well, what do you want me to say here, huh? Did you expect me to stay a saint, waiting for you to find me one day?"

Vash looked sullen. "I don't know. Maybe."

"Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Stay a saint? Wait for me?"

Mouth falling open and then snapping shut, Vash was almost comical. "I...I tried. Hey, don't look at me like that, you hypocrite. What can I say? I like blondes."

"Hmph. Exactly."

"Well look whose judging now? What about you? Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Try? Did you even try?"

Wolfwood looked down. "I...no. The answer is no. You know I didn't. I couldn't. Yeah, okay, I guess I could have, but it's not like I ever expected to see you again."

"And just to prove how wrong you can be: here I am!"

"Yes," Wolfwood said on a slow, thoughtful note. "You're here."

Vash looked surprised. He lightly touched his hand over Wolfwood's heart. "Yeah, hey: I'm here. Yeah?"

Wolfwood clutched at Vash's shoulders. "Then stay," he said and when Vash looked at him dumbly, he added again, softly, "stay." And he had no idea what the hell he was thinking with his life as fucked up as it was, but the word felt right in his mouth and sounded good to his ears. It was the truth and he heard and used it far too little.

Vash pulled away and storm clouds danced across his face. "Let me clarify what you're asking here. If you want me to stay the night, I'm here. If you want me to give up my life and come play house with you, we've got problems. Which one is it?"

Wolfwood sat up too, radiating defensiveness. "Okay, this is the part where the fight ends, right? You know what the fuck I mean," he said.

"Yeah, maybe I do."

"Well?"

"No."

Wolfwood threw his hands up and looked like the only thing he wanted was a beer and a pack of cigarettes. "Well shit, Vash. Just…what the hell? We've got something here. I don't know about you, but that wasn't just some screw, you know."

"No, it wasn't. It was good. You know it was," Vash said, exhaustion, or maybe just exasperation, in his voice. "But I have to keep moving."

"What?"

Vash looked suddenly serious. "There are things I have to do, Nick. And until they're finished, I can't have this with you. No matter what I want, I just can't."

Wolfwood's jaw hardened and he stared grimly out into the dim light of his bedroom. "There's always something," he said. "Always some damn thing."

Suddenly, Vash was against him again, speaking softly into his ear pleadingly. "Yeah, there's always a catch. But we still have tonight. Don't we?"

Vash was tilted off balance and was suddenly on his back with his hands pinned above his hand.

"Sweetheart, if all you want is tonight, you've got it," Wolfwood growled and then swooped down to claim his mouth.

He reached out with a free hand, flipped the dimmer and the room plunged into the darkness. After all, he thought, the world was only black and white. Vash's transient shades of gray were myths, ones that turned to ash in the bright light of day.

Vash spread his legs and Wolfwood slid between them.

In the dark, everything was equal.

---

The morning after. A meeting room in the downtown FBI field office.

The goddamn morning after. And not five hours before, Vash has climbed out of bed, moving with a stiffness Wolfwood could sympathize with. He'd followed him to the kitchen and they'd talked about the day, about when and where he was to meet Scanlon.

They'd both been soft-spoken, overly cautious, even cold. They'd both had their reasons for it. After all, hadn't that final time been as much in anger as it had been want and lust and need? They'd parted without touching. In fact, after the details about the meeting had been exchanged, they hadn't even spoken. Wolfwood told himself that sometimes things were just that way.

He wanted to punch his fist through a wall.

And yeah, the morning after was a bitch, especially if you had to pretend the night before hadn't happened at all for an audience that was just waiting for you to slip up. Especially if you had to butt heads with the man you'd just slept with when you could still fucking taste him. Not at the back of his throat like maybe he thought he should be able to, but deeper, somewhere where it wasn't so easy to get rid of.

Wolfwood wanted to smoke, but had been told, politely but firmly by everyone, that this was a non-smoking building.

An FBI field office, he thought with a mental snort. How low had he sunk?

The meeting had been going on for over two hours. They weren't speaking to each other directly, but Vash had given Wolfwood the look that said, "Put on your ears and listen and try not to be difficult" so Wolfwood had tried his very, very best.

Tried and failed. What it boiled down to was that they were a task force tracking down the insanely loyal followers of Knives Millions. That much was easy for Wolfwood to follow. What was more troublesome was Scanlon, the agent responsible for organizing and forming the little rag tag group.

It was obvious from the first handshake that Scanlon knew exactly who Wolfwood was, knew his file forwards and backwards, and was happily lying to his team about it.

'Mr. Wolf' he called him and the silence after was almost audibly filled with the rest of the name he refused to say. Worse, no one else seemed to notice that Scanlon was handling him with more respect, more obvious caution, than most of them thought he deserved. He was just the punk investigator with a criminal record, as far as they knew.

Wolfwood was willing to play along, up to a point. At the moment, Scanlon was talking about Meir, about his connections.

"We don't have proof as of yet, and Millions has denied it so far, but we believe that Meir is working with a group called the 'Bad Lads' and that they are an independent satellite organization based in..."

He was trying too hard. He had trussed Meir up as something he wasn't: a connection to more of Knives' men and Wolfwood knew he wasn't. Meir was a pitcher for the other team and Scanlon bloody well knew it. Wolfwood saw right through all of it. Scanlon didn't want Meir or Neon: this was about Legato and what Wolfwood could do to lead them to him. Scanlon was gearing up to offer him a lucrative position as bait for a trap.

A twisted part of him wanted to say, "I've got a plan: just wait until he's fucking me hard against a bathroom wall and then 'cuff him."

He doubted that would go over well.

As near as he could tell, Scanlon may have even arranged to be in the same town as Wolfwood for this very reason. His eyes snapped away from the federal agent to his former partner who was doing his best not to look at him.

Yeah, either Scanlon had set this up, or Vash had. How much of their meeting last night had been coincidence?

One thing was certain, he was damn curious to see how they were going to ease into the issue of Legato. Part of him suspected Scanlon didn't have the balls to do it. The rest of him knew for certain that Vash did.

He looked once again at Vash, his arms crossed and his brow creased in concentration. Suddenly, he turned his head and their eyes met. Wolfwood looked away first.

It was going to be a long meeting.

---

Across the room, Marianne was looking at Wolf. She was supposed to be listening to Scanlon, but seemed to have forgotten her manners.

The truth was that the meeting was tense and Marianne didn't quite know why. She could see the rest of the taskforce shared her confusion. It wasn't until Vash leapt two feet sideways to avoid even the slightest contact with the man called "Wolf" that Marianne understood: the two men bothered each other. More than just bothered, they got under each other's skin in ways indescribable.

She couldn't say it was dislike because the temperamental Wolf didn't snap or bark at Vash, though he had reason to after the reception he'd received yesterday. And Vash was just as friendly to everybody even when his body screamed tension so she couldn't be certain what he was feeling. It was true that the man was as good as a criminal for all that he called himself a private investigator. But Vash was usually even kind to people on the wrong side of the law.

Now Scanlon was talking about an urban legend connected to Knives. According to the story, he had saved an entire orphanage of abused children by murdering their abusers. It was a story the task force knew very well now, but Marianne wondered why Wolf didn't appear even remotely surprised. He shouldn't have had access t to the story at all. At the front of the room, a picture of a familiar face flashed on the projection screen. Marianne almost growled. She'd had her hour with this woman and didn't want to meet her again. Dominique Kuklos, a pain in the ass if ever there was one.

"We were able to get a lot of information from this woman," Scanlon said. "She was taken into custody in the city of July a few years ago after aiding in Knives' escape. Her real name is Diane Crane. She was in that orphanage for over five years and admits to suffering abuse at the hands of the caretaker and the headmaster."

Wolf walked closer to the screen. Scanlon was giving him that cocky knowing look again.

"She sang like a bird after Knives was arrested," Scanlon explained. "She says that Knives took them away from an abusive environment, gave them new lives and new identities."

"He gave them more than that," the hacker named Elizabeth said cynically. "These aren't normal men and women. The one's we've encountered are capable of some pretty bizarre things. We've had some close calls trying to take them in."

"How many do you have in custody?" Wolf asked as if news that they were dealing with super-powered freaks was hardly new.

Scanlon smiled thinly. "Since Vash joined the team, our success rate has improved. We have six in custody now."

Vash caught Wolf's eye. "There are more out there. They're loyal, but not dependent. We've found that they can operate independently of central leadership. We've also found that, in the past, someone was there to organize things during Knives' frequent absences."

"And that's where you come in," Scanlon said, hitting the advance button on the remote to pull up another picture.

Legato Bluesummers stared down at the room with golden eyes. His posture suggested that he had turned to the cameraman, aware of the surveillance but unafraid. Next to him, a dark haired man with distinct scars and a clever expression was gesturing, oblivious to everything but his companion. Wolf studied the screen, expression unreadable.

"I understand from what Vash monitored of your conversation that you were meeting Neon in an attempt to track down this man, a member of Knives Million's gang named Livio," Scanlon was saying. "This interests me because Livio is currently working with Legato Bluesummers, the man on the left. Millions has told Va…has told us that Legato was his go-to for everything. You were able to track down Livio and even worked out a way to take him down without getting close to him, all without federal resources. We need to know what you know. If you can lead us to Legato, we would be willing to turn a blind eye to some of your indiscretions."

"What kind of indiscretions?" Marianne asked, eyes sharp with suspicion. The rest the task force, except Julius, exchanged suspicious looks. Only Wolf remained stonily unaffected. Vash was looking at him with a steady gaze.

Scanlon smiled his knowing smile again. "Why don't you ask 'Wolf'? Okay, if you're reluctant to tell them, then maybe you'll allow me? We've got you on charges of fraud, violation of several gun ordinances, aiding and abetting, impersonating an officer," here he paused and tilted his head to the side. "You and I know these are the minor ones."

"Fraud? Minor?" Ryan said through clenched teeth.

"What the hell? I thought he was just a little on the line. You've got us working with a full-fledged criminal!" Marianne exclaimed.

"We don't know the details yet," Julius protested. "You can't judge him without letting him defend himself!"

"Oh, and you trust him?" Ryan asked.

"Yes," Julius said after an awkward hesitation.

"Well, that counts for a lot coming from the Boy Scout in training!"

"You all are missing the point," Scanlon said calmly. "Wolf here has connections that we can never hope to achieve in such a short amount of time. We want Livio. We want Legato. While we're at it, we might take Meir and Neon, too. How about it? Our lenience for their capture."

Wolf sighed. "I'm not so sure I like how you do business, mister."

"I can play a lot dirtier."

Wolf's nostrils flared and his eyes turned hard, almost black. He reached into his coat pocket and lit a cigarette to the shock of everyone in the room. He let out a long stream of smoke. "You want Bluesummers? You have no idea what you're dealing with. And if you think you have a snowball's chance in hell of getting near him without me, you've got another thing coming. If you want my help, you have to play by my rules. Take your threats and shove them, Agent Scanlon. Vash," he said, turning to the silent blonde sitting beside Scanlon, "you want to roll with that shyster, that's up to you, but I'm not putting up with his shit. Until he learns a little respect, I have nothing to say to any of you."

He reached the door and said over his shoulder, "And I want my fucking piece back." With a last, defiant plume of smoke sent streaming into the air, he walked out. He left behind a room of angry and confused looking men and women. Scanlon's expression was twisted into rage.

For a moment only silence reigned. Finally, Elizabeth spoke. "Well, I'm going to go on and say it: that was a waste of time."

"You don't know that," Vash snapped. "He wants to catch Bluesummers as much as we do. We just have to give him time." Marianne looked at him in surprise, incapable of understanding how he could defend such a man.

"I'm not sure we need to work with someone with nothing to lose, after all," Scanlon said. It was obvious he was holding in his anger. "I don't know how to get a man like that working for us. Threats don't work."

"Did you ever think of just asking for his help instead of threatening him?" Vash snapped, showing the first hint of irritation towards Scanlon.

Ryan looked skeptical. "I'm sorry, Vash, but we don't know this guy. Maybe Elizabeth is right. His motivations—even his loyalties—are under suspicion. How can we trust him?"

"I'd trust him in a firefight," Earl said and Julius nodded in agreement. "He's a tough son of a bitch."

"I'd trust him with my life," Vash said simply. Scanlon wore a strained expression and tried to catch Vash's attention. He failed miserably: Vash was staring after Wolf. "I'm going after him," he said suddenly, then grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and hurried from the room.

"Vash!" Marianne protested.

"Let him go," Scanlon said. They watched Vash's retreating back, each one thinking private thoughts.

---

"Nick! Wait!"

He caught up to him, got his hand around Wolfwood's upper arm and tried not to notice the jolt that went up his arm at the contact. Maybe it had been a mistake to touch him.

He didn't let him go.

"I don't go by that name here," Wolfwood said and spun on his heels. His face was one click shy of feral.

"Sorry, sorry. Old habits die hard." His fingers flexed around the tight muscle. "Walking out like that? Not cool. Come on, we need your help." The fingers flexed again, didn't loosen this time, just clung.

"Yeah, everybody needs something, don't they? People in hell want ice water."

"You didn't even give us a chance!"

Wolfwood barked a laugh. "You want me to give you a chance? Scanlon threatens me with jail time and you want me to give you a chance?"

"I did the same thing and you agreed to talk to me!"

"That's different. That was you. This is him."

"Yes, okay," Vash said simply. "He went about it the wrong way. Just...please." His eyes were wide and pleading, but not for help. Not for Wolfwood to give him a chance.

Wolfwood felt everything crumble away. "Dammit," he said. He freed himself with a practiced twist and moved quickly to get Vash around the wrist instead, squeezing too tightly. He pulled, guided.

By walking fast, they made it to a closet hidden far down a barely-used corridor. It was locked, but Vash had it open in a frighteningly short amount of time, even shaking as he was.

"How did you—?"

"Doesn't matter," Vash said. His breathing was already heavy with anticipation. Wolfwood took a step back into the room and dragged Vash with him. He only took his hands off the other man long enough to close the door and throw the latch. Then he had him up against a wall and his mouth hard against his own.

The kiss hurt in a few painful, but mostly good, ways. Vash cut his lip on Wolfwood's white teeth and almost came when a thigh pushed between his knees and then up. His head fell back.

"Is this what you wanted?"

"God, I...yes...I didn't hear a thing anybody said," Vash answered and ran his hands under Wolfwood's shirt. "They were talking and I was thinking about—"

"This? About fucking against a wall?" Wolfwood asked huskily. He put his hand to the front of Vash's pants and squeezed.

Vash cried out and squirmed against him.

Wolfwood cursed as his fingers fumbled, but finally got the last button of Vash's shirt undone. And while the buttons had hindered his progress at having as much as Vash undressed and sucked on as possible, that's not what he was swearing about. He was swearing because all his one-night-only plans had been ruined the moment he looked at Vash that morning. He hadn't been in the same room with him for even one second before thinking about having him again.

"Every time you spoke," Vash whispered. Wolfwood kissed him harder. The fly on Vash's pants was no barrier to Wolfwood.

"H-how much time do we have again?" Vash stuttered.

"Time enough for this," Wolfwood said and dropped to his knees. He mouthed at the bulge under the fabric teasingly and then released Vash's erection.

"Nick, I—"

"Shhhh, I know. Just go with it."

Without hesitation or stalling, Wolfwood swallowed him. Vash's eyes went wide and he arched off the wall. A part of him knew exactly why Wolfwood could do this so well and was horrified. The rest of him was thanking all the kinky things Wolfwood had done a lifetime ago because it felt damn good.

"Fuck," Vash hissed and then bit into his bottom lip. He tried to hold back, but his hips wanted to move. He settled for a slow slide out. It was a warm hand petting along his lower back and ass that made him look down. Wolfwood's eyes were trained on him, even as his throat worked around his cock. They were telling him to let go, that he could take it rough. Let go. With a cry, Vash did, moving faster and harder.

"I-I'm going to—" But Wolfwood's eyes said he knew already and just the idea that Wolfwood knew how close he was and wanted it made Vash start to climax. What pushed him over the edge at last was the hum deep in Wolfwood's throat and the final, intense suck he gave to the shaft.

Wolfwood didn't miss a beat, didn't spill a drop and really, this sort of thing did take practice so Wolfwood was—what was he, exactly?

He was shaking and still a little hard when Wolfwood rose to kiss him and he tasted like—

"God!" Vash panted and got his hand down Wolfwood's pants roughly.

"Nnng...yeah, like that," Wolfwood encouraged. "Wanted you...Want you..."

He braced his hands on either side of Vash's head and rocked his hips. With his head on Vash's shoulder, he could nip and bite at his neck, not enough to leave a mark that would raise questions, but just enough to let him feel it. He figured this was going to be messy and that many justified parties were going to ask about the wet stain on his pants.

He figured he would drop dead of disappointment and unfulfilled lust if Vash dared stop out of consideration for his wardrobe.

Vash stroked long and then rubbed the head, fingers sliding over the vein. Then he squeezed a little harder. Once, twice, and Wolfwood came on a stifled scream. As he came, Vash's fingers slipped back further and Wolfwood almost cursed because now was not the time to tease him about something they couldn't have.

"No time to—" he whined.

"We can make time," Vash argued.

"No time," Wolfwood said again, smiling. He extracted their hands and licked Vash's fingers.

"Okay, then maybe you should stop that if this is all we get," Vash said, mesmerized by the sight of Wolfwood sucking on his fingers.

Wolfwood swallowed, dropped the hand, and then buried his face into Vash's shoulder. "This isn't all," he said softly. "Come home with me tonight."

They were fools for even considering this, but once hadn't been enough, and twice wasn't going to cut it either. It had become terribly clear to Vash that it might take another five years of knowing Wolfwood and sleeping with him regularly (possibly three times a day, like meals or drugs) to even begin to take the edge off. Another twenty and he might have him out of his system, but it was doubtful.

And with the way Wolfwood was kissing him and saying his name combined with 'please' like a chant, refusing to let him go, Vash had a feeling it was mutual.

He nodded dumbly. "Yes," he said. Hell yes.

They were screwed.

---

They almost made it through the door without kissing.

Almost.

"Vash," Wolfwood breathed. "Now."

They door was locked clumsily behind them.

"Wait, clothes off first. Bed."

"No."

"Yeah, okay. Floor. God...fuck...ahh."

They had known in the car they weren't going to make it to bed, but they had figured they might reach the couch, at least. They'd been wrong. In fact, in the car Vash had contemplated a dark alley, but had eventually thought better of it when the idea of brick cutting into his back occurred to him. Now they collapsed together—a jumbled of long arms and legs—and still weren't close enough. They needed skin. The buttons on Vash's shirt popped off, hitting walls and tables and chairs. The shirt itself was pulled off and thrown. Neither man was sure where it landed.

Wolfwood's followed with a telling ripping sound. It hung off him in tatters as he tumbled across the floor with Vash, fighting to be on top and just to have more. Vash won in the end. He caught Wolfwood's eyes with his own, holding him down, and then drifted down. The sound of the zipper alone made Wolfwood's mouth go dry. When heat engulfed his erection, his mind went white and chaotic, like static.

He didn't last long. Panting, Vash slithered back up and kissed Wolfwood with his own taste and they shared it. Then Vash was on his back and Wolfwood was showing him a trick or two, moaning as he sucked and fondled because he enjoyed making Vash feel good. Vash's strained cry was just what he'd wanted. And then they were kissing again, too many tastes and sensations in the way of just feeling each other, but even that felt right.

Panting, breathless, exhausted, they stared up at the ceiling.

"Damn, damn, damn," Wolfwood cursed.

Vash nodded. He felt exactly the same.

Wolfwood swallowed, tasted Vash and added another 'damn.'

---

Later, they curled up together in the dark, watching bad TV dramas, just like old times, only with physical barriers completely eliminated. Vash was wearing one of Wolfwood's baggier shirts and nothing else. Wolfwood was in a pair of loose-fitting pants, unselfconscious about his bare and scarred chest. Still, neither man was completely relaxed for a dozen reasons or more. Wolfwood kept glancing back to the table where his gun sat disassembled, as if he expected Vash to take it back from him on the sly.

"You trained that kid, right?"

"Who, Julius? Yeah. How'd you know?"

"'Cause he's a good detective and a horrible liar."

A minor, half-hearted argument came from that, but the silence was back again soon before Vash felt the urge to hand out an olive branch or two.

"I know we were thinking that this...wasn't a good idea. I know I said so. But. Listen. I've got some things to take care of tomorrow. I'll be following the leads we got from Neon," Vash said without turning away from the teenybopper action drama with the pop soundtrack.

"Tomorrow night?"

Vash pursed his lips. "Maybe I'll work late."

"And the next day?"

"Amazingly free," he said, imagining how he was going to phrase, exactly, his reason for taking time off.

Wolfwood's finger trailed down his back. "Good." And that was that. They weren't over. They weren't going to have to live on two days of not nearly enough. Everything was good.

Vash shifted; Wolfwood shifted to meet him. They sat closer together now, one of Wolfwood's legs draped over one of Vash's and their sides brushing with each breath.

Vash tried not to smile at the way Wolfwood leaned in to him like a needy kid. He leaned right back, which was another reason to try not to smile. They were either very bad for each other, or very good. He got the feeling it was the former. His biggest fear was that Wolfwood would come to the same decision.

"Something bothering you?" Vash asked after a time. Wolfwood hadn't laughed at five of the last jokes, as if he wasn't even listening.

Finally, Wolfwood said, "How old are you?"

Vash went still. He was choosing his words carefully. What he said, at last, was, "Where did this come from?"

Wolfwood shook his head. "You weren't the only one looking for answers. That meeting with today only gave me more. I've started to put a few things together."

"Like?" Vash asked quietly.

"Like the amount of time between when Dominique says Knives escaped from the orphanage and when he came back to rescue her and the other children. That's a fifty-year window, Vash. And you look like him. Just like him. Fill me in Vash. Scanlon wanted you for a reason. He treats you like a prize."

Vash wore a guarded expression. "Like I told you all those years ago: I don't remember the orphanage very well. I don't remember anything that came before it. I just...there's a lot I don't remember. I never tried to lie to you."

"So tell me the truth now. Who is Knives Millions?"

Vash's sigh was heavy. "My brother. My twin, actually."

"Does he know how old you are?"

"He's...hinted that he does."

Wolfwood took a breath and asked what seemed to be the question that he'd wanted to ask all along. "So what are you?"

Vash shook his head. "I'm whatever Knives is. Maybe we could save a few people if we knew exactly what that is. But he's not being so cooperative. I think maybe he doesn't care what we are. Or maybe he knows already and doesn't want the world to find out."

Wolfwood let his eyes travel over Vash's youthful face gravely. "So they can't poke him with needles and hook him up to machines, but they can do all that and more to you?" His eyes had dropped to the mysterious scar on Vash's arm, understanding suddenly what Vash was enduring.

"They need to understand what we are so that they can put an end to the things he's been doing."

Wolfwood looked disgusted. "They want to know what you are so they can reproduce it and control it, Vash. There's nothing more to it than that."

Vash was silent and it was obvious that Wolfwood had voiced a fear that he himself shared. He argued against it anyway. "That's not true."

"It is. You're more than just a good agent for them. You're a guinea pig."

"Now you sound like him."

"Maybe I'm not so different from him," Wolfwood snapped and almost seemed surprised by his own vehemence. Then even that was gone, leaving only the anger.

Vash looked strangely uncomfortable quite suddenly. "Don't say that."

"Why? Because it's true?"

Vash stood and moved into the kitchen, flipping on the light with a frustrated flick. Wolfwood followed.

"Don't walk away from me."

Vash threw up one hand. "Oh, we're being mature today, aren't we? Next we'll play rock, scissors, paper to settle the score! Grow up." He kept walking, going for a mug in the cabinet.

He was whirled around by a firm grip on his wrist and then pushed back against the counter. The mug fell to the ground with a heavy sound, miraculously still intact.

"I said. Don't. Walk. Away. From. Me," Wolfwood growled.

"Back off."

Vash barred his teeth in anger, but nothing could hide his reaction to the intensity of the moment. Wolfwood saw it in his eyes, got him around the legs and lifted him onto the counter aggressively. He was there, pressing against him before Vash had time to protest. He attacked his neck, whispering words that Vash missed as he tilted his head back.

"Don't try and distract me with this."

Wolfwood didn't answer, just moved closer to Vash's ears, some of his words making it through the fog of reluctant anticipation in Vash's mind. Words like "Right here on this fucking counter" and "You want it just like this."

"Stop it," Vash said, but opened his legs wider when Wolfwood made it clear that he was supposed to. "You can't end every fight this way."

"Watch me."

It was a strange, vulnerable position though he was higher up, looking down at Wolfwood, craning his neck down to kiss him. He felt open and exposed. Then he just felt stretched and then filled with spit-wet fingers. It was a little rougher, the fight leaving a stain, tainting the edges red and bruise purple. "You're gonna come just like this," Wolfwood said and crooked a finger inside him as he wrapped his other hand around his cock.

There were more bites, more curses and pleas for more and fuck and harder and stop and no and there.

"I don't fucking care what you are," Wolfwood was growling, but it was unintelligible to Vash who was just barely holding on, ankles locked together and back fucking aching. He slid down further, pulled Wolfwood on top of him until he could barely breath with the weight crushing down. He came screaming into his mouth.

Wolfwood finished a minute later by in his own hand, saying Vash's name over and over. Then he was stroking his face too heavily as aftershocks racked them both. Then Vash just cradled him, not sure of what to say; not sure if there was anything he could say. They stayed that way for longer than they should, both of them lost in thought as their skin started to itch and their throats reminded them that coffee might be nice, or water at least.

Vash pushed him off and away with a strangely awkward kiss and then slid down him as Wolfwood lowered him to the ground, hands on his hips. He didn't apologize. Neither did Vash.

They showered together, slowly and with few words exchanged. Vash turned red under the steam and Wolfwood's hair was like ink in the wet spray.

Then they dressed and Wolfwood walked Vash to the door, trying not to think about how they'd both failed miserably at the no secrets rule. It was easier when they weren't fighting. It was easier when they were there for each other like they'd always been before Picasso. Now he had to let Vash just walk away after a nasty fight and neither of them had said what they'd wanted to say. More than that, it was clear that they both just wanted to try to work things out, to make this work, somehow. There was nothing either of them wanted more. So why the hell couldn't they get it right?

---

Marianne was quiet today. Scanlon was giving him suspicious looks. Julius was asking him if he was okay every five minutes and offering to bring him coffee every half hour. The rest of the team kept their distance, as if they could see the irritation coming off of him in waves. They wanted to ask what had happened after he stormed after the mysterious Wolf, but knew they weren't going to get answers until Vash was ready to give them. Ryan openly made snide remarks about the man, finding a few colorful ways to challenge Vash's authority while he was at it. It got so bad that gentle Earl told him to shut the fuck up.

And that was the last straw.

"I'm going to go see Knives," Vash said and the room went silent, bickering forgotten. The mention of Knives Millions in such a casual tone was enough to make anyone shudder.

"You're not scheduled to see him for—"

"I'm going," Vash said, mustering patience and calm, "to see my brother."

He left behind a room of troubled looking men and women. Marianne took the rest of the day off, claiming a headache. No one doubted her as she had dark circles under her eyes that told of a terrible, inner conflict.

Vash went to see his brother. It was hardly a short drive now and the day slipped away as he drove. Visiting him in his mind was not enough right now. He wanted to see him.

It was tempting on the drive over to the prison to slip into their world early. Everything was so beautiful and calm there. He needed things to make sense. At one point he got so near the boundary that he saw Knives swivel towards him, surprise on his flawless face.

Vash took a corner wildly when this world and that crashed together before his eyes. Horns blared all around him and he cursed. He decided to wait, but it was a difficult thing.

Finally, after the checkpoints and the guards and the metal detectors, he sat before his brother.

"This was a long trip for you," Knives said. "You could have just—"

"I wanted to see you."

Knives tilted his head to the side in that peculiar way of his. "Come to me," he said, and his eyes fluttered closed.

Vash was there in an instant—blue sky above, endless water below—and the first thing he did was hug his brother so tightly that Knives actually stiffened in surprise. It took a minute for him to relax into the embrace.

"You were gone for quite awhile," Knives said, managing to keep disapproval from his voice.

"I know, I'm sorry." It wasn't an answer to the question Knives hadn't asked, and they both knew it.

"They've run more tests?"

"I don't want to talk about that today, okay?"

"You never want to talk about that. Then what do you want to talk about, hmm? Do you want to tell me about the detective?"

Vash plopped down onto the water. It took his weight perfectly, soothingly. "That obvious?"

"Between you and me?"

Vash knew what he meant. Quite simply, they 'got' each other. Knives' often unpredictable moods, his darker ambitions: Vash could see them all when he looked at the man. Knives, similarly, could take one look at Vash and pinpoint the cause of his joy or dismay. Fat lot of good this kind of understanding did them, Vash thought bitterly. They'd talk together for an hour or two in their strange little paradise and then he'd leave Knives in his prison like he always did. Seeing him in the lifeless cell today had been a very effective reminder that the people who meant the most to him all had criminal records and that everything that would make the world perfect was impossible. He couldn't embrace his brother in the real world.

And his boyfriend was as messed up as they came.

"I just," he tried, then started again. "It's not what I thought it would be like."

Knives hid his scowl. "What, the sex is terribly unfulfilling and you just can't tolerate a man with no stamina?"

Vash raised an eyebrow. "Was that a joke?"

"I'm not sure." He licked his lips as he thought. "Maybe."

"Oh. Well, good for you." Vash's face scrunched up as he tried to remember the thread of the conversation. "Oh, right. Sex. No, that's not the problem at all. Believe me," he said emphatically. The black look his brother gave him was ignored.

"It's everything else. It's the secrets and the lies. I don't think you can build anything meaningful with those in the way."

"That's all they know, Vash," Knives said as he sat beside him. "They don't know how do be anything than what they are."

Vash shook his head. "Does it bother you that you can twist every conversation into something ugly and hateful?"

Biting back his retort took every ounce of his willpower. "I'm trying to help you see the real root of your problem. Even if all the lies were revealed today, he'd just tell more tomorrow."

Vash looked away from Knives' imploring, open face, for once, not taken in by the beauty of the sky and clouds and water. Or that of his brother. "You know, he makes me happy, when he's not making me miserable."

"Is that enough?" Knives asked in a tone of voice that suggested that he thought it shouldn't be.

"For now?" Vash laughed, elated by the simple solution to his problem. "Yeah. It's enough for now."

---

Wolfwood knew Scanlon would be furious with him if he got wind of this, but he also didn't care. Scanlon had no hold over him. And even if he brought the full power of the law against him, Wolfwood wanted to see the prison that could hold him.

Meir was excited today. He said that Neon was 'making his move' and Wolfwood knew he'd have to check the police scanners and newspapers for the next few days to see how many bodies were uncovered in the river. If Neon was making war against Livio, things could get ugly quick. The only question was how ugly did it have to get before Livio called in help?

The dance hall where they had agreed to meet was neutral territory, but only just barely. Men in dark suits glared at each other from across the dance floor. Wolfwood recognized more than a few of them and the cop in him wanted to arrest them all. The man he'd become told him to back down.

"Livio's got soldiers here," he said casually, just in case Meir hadn't noticed. Meir shrugged his indifference. "They can't do nothing without their boss. They never can. The whole lot of em's useless."

They talked for a few minutes more, Wolfwood exchanging selective bits of what he knew for what Meir was willing to tell him. If Livio showed his face around town anywhere, Wolfwood was sure he'd hear something.

"Don't let your men hurt him," he said once again. Meir rolled his eyes. "You're weird. You want him taken down, but you want him alive?"

"It's not him I'm after," Wolfwood said without worry of Meir trying to dig too deeply. "He's a small piece of the bigger picture."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say. You've got your world, but mine don't extend past this town, yeah? Anyway, I made a promise and I'll keep it. More importantly, Neon made a promise and that's as good as gold. Livio shows, you'll be the first to know and we won't even shoot in his general direction." He shook his head again. "We may owe you a big favor, but I can't figure you for the world."

Wolfwood only smiled and then sent the Bad Lad lieutenant on his way. Meir, for all that he was a dirty, scheming, murdering errand boy, wasn't such a bad guy, Wolfwood figured. And with any luck, his scheming would lead him to Legato.

He had a few drinks to celebrate, sat back and watched the young and reckless enjoy being young and reckless on the floor. More than a few men were dancing lewdly, with women and with men. A line of four men were sliding together obscenely. Wolfwood let his eyes take in the sight with a smile before swerving back to the two ladies on the bar who were rubbing their bodies together prettily. Sometimes he loved this town.

It was several drinks more when a tall and handsome man with startling blue eyes approached him to ask for a dance. Wolfwood didn't see the harm in dancing. He followed him onto the floor. The pace of the music was heavy and thundering, perfect for the kind of dancing this guy wanted to do. Legs interlocked, they moved like lovers on the floor. Wolfwood wrapped his arms around the man, buried his face against his neck and rode it out. He knew they were being watched; a few people cat called and both he and the stranger got a laugh out of that. There was a strong hand on his ass, pulling him closer to the heat and hardness. The music changed into something slower, more sensual. They switched again, Wolfwood moving behind the man, letting him slide his ass against his crotch. It was hot dancing like this; he was turned on, as was the stranger if the bulge in his pants was any indication. When the music stopped, the stranger swayed close to his lips, only veering to the side at the last minute.

"Come home with me, tonight. Let me be your good time," he whispered into Wolfwood's ear. Wolfwood looked at him, considering. He was really very good looking with an amazing body and obvious passion. "Tempting, but I don't think I'm sober enough to enjoy it," he said honestly. This got a laugh from the stranger. "Well, then, maybe another night?" He slid a card into the back pocket of Wolfwood's slacks. "Please?"

"Yeah, another night," Wolfwood lied. Mentally he was telling Vash, 'See, I tried to be a saint. Are you happy?' He gave the guy one last look as he walked away and to the door. "You have no idea what I'm giving up for you," he mumbled with a smile. Then he managed to get home with little to no trouble outside of stumbling over the curb once or twice. He didn't even fumble with the key to his house. Part of him was justifiably worried over the fact that he was getting even better at holding his liquor.

Without a shower, without even a late night smoke, he crashed. The most he did was loosen the button of his shirt. His body was thrumming from that dance, but he was thinking about Vash. He slept and dreamt that he was standing on an endless lake of water under a blue sky. He'd never been to such a place before, so the image seemed even more intangible and dreamlike. The edges of the world were blurred and unfinished. Vash was standing in the distance, and when he sensed his presence, he turned.

"You don't belong here," he said with a cold expression on his porcelain face.

Wolfwood awoke with a gasping scream when his hands were cruelly bound over his head.

"Legato," he hissed and squirmed. Of course he couldn't move. Legato's power was truly beyond anything.

The pale haired man stooped down low, kissed him roughly and then clawed his hands, dragging them down in a swift motion. The clothing that ripped from his body had a fair amount of skin go with it. Legato's nails made him bite his lip and arch his back.

"Chapel," Legato said. "The last time we met, when I gave you these," he said, indicating the scars that had so bothered Vash, "I thought that you were running from me, now I see you've been hunting me. I'm flattered. How long ago was that last time? A month? Two? Did you miss me?"

"Get the fuck out of my bed."

"After you've worked so hard to find me, setting up Livio in hopes of capturing me?" He leaned down low and ran his tongue over Wolfwood's jaw. "Either way, it's been too long since I last tasted you. I don't want to go. You don't want me to go. I saw you tonight, dancing like the whore you are."

"Let me go," Wolfwood said, but there was a hitch in his voice.

"Was that for me? Did you know I was watching? Everyone was watching you and all of them wished they could do to you what I'm doing now." The lick turned into a bite at his throat and then at his collarbone. Wolfwood squirmed. "The man who danced with you wanted you so much that I could still smell his lust on him when I killed him," Legato said matter-of-factly.

"You—fuck you."

"No, fuck you."

His legs were forced apart and his already leaking cock was massaged, but not by a hand.

"Damn," Wolfwood hissed. Were there no limits to what the man could do with his mind?

And no, there weren't.

All too soon, a thick, blunt pressure was pushing into him. "No," he said, panicking. "Not like that."

"You can take all kinds of pain, Chapel. You were born to take it."

His mouth opened wide and a strangled scream ripped from his throat. It was inside him, spreading him apart, filling him up. It pushed in deeper—as deep as any cock could go—and then the pain started when it went beyond that. Thicker, harder, more unyielding.

"Stop! God, stop," Wolfwood begged and felt a hot tear slide down his cheek.

"No," Legato said. The power withdrew, slammed back in and Wolfwood's cock leaked, twitching against his stomach.

"Fuck!"

Legato was studying him. "This is what you wanted, wasn't it?" In reply, Wolfwood bit into his lip so hard it bled and opened his legs wider. "No, don't..."

"You need this."

"No."

"Yes. You always need this to be rape. It's the only way you can understand it. You need somebody to take the choice away from you. It's easier for you like this. No thinking, no searching, no regrets."

"I-I..."

"Need what I can give you," Legato finished and forced his power into him again and again at a brutal pace that had Wolfwood coming in spurts not too long after. Then Legato's power simply dissipated. Without the phenomenon of something withdrawing, the feeling was bizarre and unnatural. There were too many sensations all at once for him to really feel when Legato's cock took the place of his mysterious power, sliding into him easily. He sighed in contentment and pulled Wolfwood closer.

"Does it hurt?" Legato whispered in his ear, motionless for the moment though potential energy twitched inside him.

"No," Wolfwood admitted and, contrary to every part of him that wanted this to stop, moved his hips to bring that thickness in and out. His breath hitched and then fluttered. "The pain stopped."

Legato kissed along his jaw, catching the salt of tears on his lips. "How does it feel now? Tell me. Be honest."

"Good. You feel good." In and out, opening him wide, stretching the walls inside him and making him feel so full.

He nuzzled against Wolfwood's ear. "That's what being with you is like: everything stops."

Wolfwood tossed his head, sweat flying off him in hot drops. Legato looked down at him, mesmerized by the dark skinned man with his mouth wide open, panting in pleasure and pain.

"Everything you were supposed to be, you weren't. So why can't I kill you?" he said, almost in a sob. "Why can't I end this?"

"Finish it," Wolfwood gasped. So he did.

He took him then, not gently, but thoroughly and neither man said a thing later about how—not for the first time—they came screaming each other's names, but they both noticed.

---

Wolfwood awoke to the feeling of being close to someone. The sun hurt his eyes so he squeezed them back together and simply enjoyed the moment. To wake up next to someone in broad, screaming daylight was truly a new experience. With his tastes, he usually spent a lot of time stumbling home battered and alone after a one-night encounter or being left somewhere to recuperate. Even his first time with Vash, the busy man had left in the early hours of the morning.

The man beside him now was breathing steadily near his ear and making soft noises with each inhale. The most thrilling thing of all was also the most mundane: he was holding his hand, or rather, they were holding each other's hands. That kind of closeness was rare and precious.

He smiled. It was just the kind of thing he expected from Vash. Vash, he thought and smiled. Finally being in the same city with Vash and able to touch him. Finally being able to kiss him and hold him. It was the most pleasant idea he'd had to wake up to in a very long time. He opened his eyes.

Platinum hair and skin as pale as milk bathed by sunlight greeted him. Not Vash. Not Vash at all. Last night came back to him with the impact of a brick falling from heaven onto his head. He reeled back and the motion awakened Legato.

"Hmmm?" the killer mumbled. He sat up and looked around, smacking his lips sleepily. When his eyes fell on Wolfwood, they went wide and confused.

Seeing such a terrified expression on Legato's face, Wolfwood got a fair idea of what his own must look like. "Y-you're still here," he said.

Legato nodded dumbly. "Yes."

"Why are you still here?"

"I don't know." He looked around at the room, his hair sticking to his cheek on the left side. It was strange to see him in such a human light, waking up first thing in the morning with bleary eyes and kitten breath. Legato suddenly frowned, almost childishly. "Why does it bother you so much?"

And now Wolfwood frowned. "Um...I..." He wanted to say something sharp and ugly, but the truth fought its way out instead. "I think it's the daylight. I'm not used to seeing you in the daylight. You have a habit of sneaking up on me in the dark and, well, you know the rest."

Legato nodded again. He was regarding Wolfwood steadily. "Like last night."

"Yeah," Wolfwood said with a thick voice. He squirmed when his body started to tighten and harden. He was still achingly sore and it didn't matter. "Just like that."

Legato's eyes dilated and his tongue darted out to lick his lips.

And suddenly, Wolfwood knew something had changed. He thought it was bizarre that it was not the morning after conversation with a serial killer that signaled his revelation. Nor was it the fact that he hadn't tried to throw the man out even once. It was, instead, the primal memory of his body telling him that last night had been good, that Legato knew it had been good, and that they both knew it could—and probably would—happen again, and soon.

Simply, he knew something had changed when he caught himself entertaining the idea that this could work. This being...whatever it was between them.

Commenting on the argument in his head, Wolfwood blurted out, "Ah, hell no."

Legato didn't miss a beat as if he were privy to Wolfwood's inner debate. "And why not?" he asked and crawled towards Wolfwood who, once again didn't try to stop him. It was infuriating how he lost control around him, even when his body was under his own power. "I know what you want. I can give you what you need."

Wolfwood shook his head when his dry throat refused to make words. Legato was potent above him and he sank down onto the sheets until he was small and low before him.

"I'm with Vash," he said weakly.

"Don't think I don't know. You smell like him." He looked off into the distance, disgusted. "But he won't hurt you. He won't make you bleed, even if you ask for it."

Wolfwood winced. He was remembering Vash's exclamation the night they first slept together.

"I can't do it. I can't hurt you."

It had been good with Vash. That should have been the bottom line, but was it? Would painless, sweet, passionate sex with Vash carry through the years? Or, one day, would he wake up, aching for a little blood? And could he have his cake and eat it, too? Catching himself thinking such troublesome thoughts, he forced his mind back to the real issue.

"You're a killer," he said after a moment and made his expression harden in disapproval.

Legato reached out a hand and cupped Wolfwood's stubbled cheek. "You calm me."

"Oh, no, no, no. We are not having this discussion. We're not dating."

"No, we're fucking, there's a difference."

Wolfwood covered his eyes with his forearm. "Jesus H. Christ," he groaned.

Legato looked down at him, considering. "You always scorned me for not knowing what I wanted, Chapel. I've been trying to make you realize that now I do. We keep finding each other and you keep neglecting to arrest me."

Wolfwood rolled his eyes. "Well, if it keeps you from killing innocent people, then I guess I'll just have to put out an extra towel for you. Do you shower in the morning or at night? How do you like your eggs? Are you a Sagittarian? Do you like long walks on the beach? Jesus."

Legato's eyes narrowed and he bared his teeth. "Making room in your life for me for the greater good? How noble."

The slap across his face was such a surprise that Wolfwood's body took a moment to react. Slowly it bloomed into heat. His pulse quickened. Legato's knowing smile was terrible to look at. Still, he arched off the bed when Legato slapped him again.

"Tell me you want me to stop."

Wolfwood was trembling. "I want you to stop."

"You're a liar." He dug his fingers into Wolfwood's hair and pulled him up. After a moment of tense struggle that left Wolfwood panting, Legato forced Wolfwood's head between his legs.

"Show me what I can make you do," he said. "Show me how I can control you."

Wolfwood opened his mouth and did as he was told. His body was under his own control and yet he didn't run. Legato's power was dormant and resting and he didn't fight. His mind was his own and yet he opened wide, swallowed around the head and licked up the vein.

Nothing was right. He didn't think of Vash. He thought of pain and weakness and came with Legato's cock down his throat. When he swallowed the salty come, he did so greedily.

After what felt like a lifetime, he rested in Legato's arms, body loose and tense all at once. It didn't feel wrong, exactly, to be here with him. Certainly it felt nothing like the closeness he felt beside Vash, the security and warmth. This felt tense and strong and overbearing. It felt like it would devour him and that he might like it.

Legato kissed his temple. "Meet me this afternoon," he said.

Wolfwood swallowed and heard his voice as if from far away ask, "Where?"

"I don't care. Go wherever you want. I'll find you. I'll always find you."

Wolfwood turned to face him, terrified and thrilled all at once. It was true: Legato could always find him. He'd chased him across the country, hadn't he? There was nowhere he could go where Legato wouldn't, couldn't follow.

"How? How do you know where I am?" he asked, though he didn't truly want to know.

Legato kissed him in answer, and maybe, somehow, he understood anyway.

---

He didn't know when Legato finally left. He was so exhausted, emotionally and physically that he slept without dreaming. The sun was higher in the sky when he awoke. Vash was calling. He answered with a mouth that tasted like Legato.

"Morning," Vash said. He sounded too cheerful, desperate to make some sense out of the mess they were in. His determination to make their last fight unimportant only made it stand out more starkly.

"Good morning," Wolfwood said. I fucked Legato last night, again, he didn't say. And the next time we're together, you'll see the scars and you'll pretend not to know where they came from. Because you do know, don't you? Suddenly, the truth of it all came to him. Vash knew, better than anyone had rights to, what was between he and Legato. He knew and was pretending not to. Why are you doing this, Vash? he wanted to ask.

"I want to see you," Vash said with raw honesty in his voice.

Wolfwood found himself smiling a sad, defeated smile. I don't deserve you. But I want you so bad it aches.

"I suppose I could squeeze you in," he said.

"This afternoon?"

"Make it tonight and I'll be there with bells on." Wolfwood sat up in bed. "Where are you? You sound far away."

Vash laughed. "Nowhere so far that I can't be there by nightfall."

"Then I'll be here."

"I'll call you."

The connection was severed and Wolfwood looked up at the morning sunshine outside his window. He was going to see Vash.

He'd just been fucked by Legato and he was going to go see him again.

He looked at himself in the mirror, called himself a name that so many men had called him in his life. The one that stung the most made him grit his teeth. Gruff and alcohol scented, he could feel the word against his neck.

It made him want to hurt something. It made him want to be hurt.

He had an appointment to keep.

And all at once, he knew exactly where he would meet Legato.

---

Wolfwood shifted, ill at ease. The tree he was leaning on was more worn than he remembered. He suspected it was dying. It was fitting, somehow, that even the trees near this place couldn't thrive. It was closer to evening now, but he didn't think for a minute that he wouldn't come.

The rustle of leaves to his left made him stand up. He gave the cigarette dangling off his lip a long drag, but it tasted bad quite suddenly. Tossing it to the side, he let his eyes travel over the low headstones. Here and there were angels turned away in mourning, wings unfurled behind them. Here and there were well kept graves adorned with fresh flowers. Of all the graves nearby, only this one was desolate, overgrown, and unkempt. If there had been flowers, he would have taken them away himself, given them to someone deserving.

Legato stepped through the graveyard with long strides, his eyes lowered. Wolfwood watched him, remembering the warmth of waking beside him.

He was silent at first, looking around him and then at Wolfwood. The setting sun was behind his broad shoulders and Wolfwood squinted against it. It made his narrow eyes narrow even further. He looked more closed off than ever, unapproachable. Things had changed between them. The crisp early autumn air seemed an omen to the fact that, no matter what they thought, no matter what they tried to do, nothing was the same anymore. They had agreed to meet, but now that they had, the atmosphere between them was confused. The look in Legato's eyes was uncertain and uneasy. After a long, tension filled moment where they only stared at one another, Legato asked, "What is this place?"

Wolfwood moved to a headstone that bore a name and a date with no epitaph. His smile was not humorous. "You asked me once," he began, "who I killed to make the world a better place." He paused and slapped his hand on the cold stone.

Legato moved closer, circling the grave to read the name. If he understood the circumstances, if he understood anything at all, he didn't say. Instead he asked, "Why are you showing me this?"

They stood two feet apart now, divided by the headstone. Wolfwood shook his head. "I don't know."

Legato's jaw clenched. "He hurt you?"

"It was a long time ago." He shrugged indifference he didn't feel.

"Was it really? Do you think of him when I'm controlling you? Do I remind you of him?"

"Yes," said quietly, more a whisper than anything else.

Legato tilted his head to the side. "What do you want?"

Wolfwood's first thought was 'Vash' but he wondered if it was as true as it had once been not so long ago. Then it hadn't been merely true, it had been the only truth, the one thing that had mattered to him and kept him going.

Now he had this thing with Legato, a killer, and Wolfwood had to wonder if he was the last holdout in this triangle, the only one with no fucking clue. Legato himself was far too certain about far too many things. "I don't know," Wolfwood said once again.

Legato looked around at the clear day, then back at Wolfwood. "Do you want me to tell you what to want? Do you want me to make you admit what you are?"

"No. Yes." He shrugged a little helplessly. "I don't know."

A blast of pain ran from his neck and down, settling in his gut like he'd swallowed embers. It burned low and then flared to life. He turned his head away, braced himself on the headstone of the man who had raped and beat him again and again.

"Tell me," Legato hissed. "Now."

"Okay," Wolfwood groaned through his clenched teeth. "For whatever sick reason, we are what the other...wants? Needs? Hell, I don't know. Ahh! You can't kill me for whatever reason...and I can't stop how I react to you."

The pain dissipated.

"And?" Legato asked, waiting for him to complete the puzzle, to put the rest together. As if merely knowing the truth in the darkest parts of their minds wasn't enough: they had to have this out in the open.

"And nothing. This is pretty fucked up. Even you have to admit that this is fucked up." He lowered his eyes, staring at the grass at his feet.

Wolfwood waited for Legato to reply to that, but wasn't really surprised when he didn't. When he heard the other man's soft footsteps crunching the leaves as he walked away, he looked up, saw the strong line of his back and only wanted to follow him where he was going. Legato paused and waited for him to do just that.

He was only mildly surprised by where they ended up. The night was still young, but the youth of the world got started early. He and Legato weren't young anymore, certainly not in spirit, but time was short.

He'd see Vash tonight, purge himself of the darkness Legato infected him with by bathing in the light Vash cast. But for now...

On a floor packed with bodies, Legato pulled him close. He had never imagined Legato, who was so cold and distant except for when he was angry or wanted to hurt, as being capable of this kind of heat. And he burned. It wasn't like dancing, not any kind he knew, anyway. This was like being possessed. And he held him, swayed with him, and then slowly tilted him over his arm and kissed him. People watched; people moved closer to stare.

Wolfwood didn't know what was happening. Legato's reason for this was as incomprehensible to him as Legato's reason for once murdering a room full of people just like the ones blurring in the low lights around them. A nighttime tableau, a mystery of one man's want for another. It could have been jealousy, Legato having watched him dance with another man with such abandon. A man who was now dead.

He held Legato's sharp shoulders, felt the fabric with his fingers until they tingled, barely keeping up with the shifting kiss. Like a switch flipped on, he suddenly told himself the truth.

He did know why.

Legato had done it for him.

He had done it for this.

Wolfwood opened his mouth and simply let go. As they pressed even closer, he was wondering if you could die from giving into the things you were supposed to resist. And if you could, then the question was which one of them would die first. Legato for fighting it for so long only to give in? Or him for giving in so completely, all at once, barely dancing, but feeling as if the world was?

---

Vash was aware of the dangers of not paying attention, but he wasn't thinking about them. He was thinking about tonight when he would go see Wolfwood. So maybe today wasn't all the great—he had to work he had to think—but tonight was going to be good.

Conversation with Wolfwood was the same. Debates and jokes that turned into arguments and comedy routines—he had memories of that in spades. But having access to his body was all so new. He had a list of things he'd thought about for years and never been able to do making his mind tingle. He was not thinking about talking to Wolfwood tonight. He had other plans, ones that didn't involve clothing. After their fight, maybe that would be for the best. The fight stung. The fact that it didn't matter as much as it could—or maybe should have—made him breathless.

It was all so damn new.

He jangled his keys in his pocket as he skipped down the front steps of the hotel. His jeep was parked across the busy street. He looked left and then right and patiently waited for traffic to clear.

He heard the tires screech before he saw anything. The noise alone had him leaping back an impressive distance. The place where he'd been standing was now occupied by a battered van. He'd barely regained his footing when four men emerged from the car. They approached him from both side, menacing by their strangeness. One of them was a big guy with an outlandish hairstyle. He looked remarkably familiar.

It took a moment for Vash to place the face. It had been two years ago.

"Joey, the electrician?" Vash whispered to himself. It was a bizarre twist. He was being attacked by a man who had gone out of his way to help him save Wolfwood once. The shock came with a realization. Had he really been trying to help when he gave Vash the directions to the gold mine, or had he intended on sending Vash to his death on Legato's orders? What he thought he knew was having as bad a day as he was.

And with Joey approaching stealthily, he was in no position to consider it at length. The man beside Joey was thin like a dancer and graceful on his feet. The other two were goons, plain and simple.

Vash backed away, eyes darting between the faces of his attackers as he tried to plan. Which one to take out first? Which way to dodge?

The choice was taken from him when they all rushed him simultaneously. He got two of them with uppercuts that actually hurt his knuckles when they connected with jaw. The swing from the second punch had twisted him sideways and that was the problem because the big guy used his newly vulnerable position to get him around the torso, smashing his arms into his sides and lifting him off his feet.

"Get the door! I've got him!"

One of the battered-looking goons rubbed his jaw. "What makes you think you can hold him?"

With strength that his wiry arms failed to show, Vash wrenched the thick arms off of him and wiggled away and down into a crouch. He swept his legs around in a wide circle and the big guy went down. Goon number two had recovered enough to rush him again and got a black eye to go with his bruised jaw, tumbling back into Goon number one. And with three of them down (but not out) and the other one disoriented, Vash made a rush for his jeep. He got two steps forward before a horrible, electric pain jolted him in the back.

His body jerked and then smoked. All of this had taken less than a minute.

He went down, grateful for the numb of unconsciousness that came down upon him like a down blanket. He could hear his attackers as they gathered around him.

"He's one tough son of a bitch," one said.

"Tough don't mean shit against a taser on full power."

"We weren't supposed to hurt him."

"I'm not so sure we did."

"Shuddap, all of yous. Get him in the car 'fore somebody calls the cops."

The two nondescript goons gathered up Vash's long body, joking about how little he weighed. Once he was settled into the back of the van, they bound him with chains that looked fit for maximum-security prisoner transport. He stirred restlessly, but didn't wake as they pulled off.

"He ain't nothin' special," the slender, dark haired man said with a cackle.

From behind the wheel, the big man named Joey snorted. "You don't know nothin'. Look at him: he's the same as the boss, just some skinny pretty boy with more bone than muscle. But the boss can take care of himself. Looks can fool you. You can tell me all about it first hand when he breaks your arm like he's probably planning on doin'."

"He's unconscious."

"Is he?" Joey asked in a sinister tone.

The skinny one gave a considering look to Vash. He backed away from him carefully. "Where's that stuff? You know the stuff."

"In the case next to you."

He quickly retrieved the needle and examined it. Sweating and unsteady, he approached Vash. He didn't breath as he neared which made his shocked gasp all the more painful when it ripped from his lungs. The chains clattered to the floor.

Vash had him fast by one arm and then shoved into him with his shoulder. The force of his blow sent the man into the opposite wall and the tail of the van swerving wildly. The two goons in the seats before them could barely stand to move with the swaying of the car.

"Get him under control!"

"Pull over!"

"Hold him down!"

The lunge was so awkward and graceless that it was amazing it did any good against Vash at all, especially with Vash's equilibrium unfazed by the jerking that unbalanced everyone else. The skinny man reasoned that it didn't need to be a beautiful attack, just effective enough to get the needle where he needed it.

The best he could do was plunge it into Vash's thigh as he landed before him. Vash's eyes went wide in shock and then he went down.

Breathing erratically, the skinny guy crumpled down beside him. He was tempted to punch the guy out of spite.

"Bastard," he hissed.

"Everybody okay back there?" Joey inquired with a touch of amusement in his voice.

"You can swallow that smirk and the I-told-you-so with it," the skinny man said.

"Yeah, yeah. Maybe you'll listen to me next time about looks an' all that."

The skinny man glared down at Vash's prone body wearily. "What's next?"

"Next we make a phone call. It's a simple tradeoff: if they want theirs back, we get ours back."

The skinny man cackled once again. "Things just ain't the same without the boss."

"No, they're not," Joey agreed. "But we can get him back now. We have something they want."

"You're about to have a broken arm," Vash said and stood. He ripped the needle from his leg and grinned menacingly at the thugs.

"Holy. Sh—"

They phrase was never finished. From outside the swerving van, it looked as if it housed horses who kicked and bucked at every side. It looked in danger of tilting at one point, but recovered when it fishtailed violently to the left, weaving in and out of on-coming traffic. Eventually, in the middle of an intersection filled with cars honking at ear-shattering levels, the truck spun out, tilted over as if it were inevitable, and came to a halt, on its side and smoking.

The curious and the foolish approached it after nothing happened for many long minutes. All along the street parked cars roared to life with the sound of their alarms, triggered by the van barreling into them or coming too close for comfort.

"It looks like a heap of junk," one man whispered. "Ain't nobody coming out of that."

"Did somebody call the cops?"

"Wait, wait. Something's moving."

The back door of the van opened to reveal a very unassuming man. Tall and blonde, he stood out more for being lanky than anything. He hopped down from the van, turned and shuffled through the jumbled debris. There was a strange groan from somewhere. The tall blonde pulled back his fist and it disappeared into the truck at remarkable speed. The groaning stopped. Then the man retrieved a cell phone and seemed about to dial when it flew from his hand.

Nothing seemed to have sent it flying, but he had felt it: a gust of wind like what brought a tornado.

Parting the crowd before him, a large, dark haired man with a grim expression emerged. He was wielding, for all intents and purposes, a samurai sword. Vash gave him points for originality.

"I should have known better than to have sent those boys to do a man's job," the man said, stance widening.

Vash squinted at the new arrival. "Oh, Ryan. It's you," he said. "I'm not even really surprised: you were always a real asshole."

"Hmph. As you like. But at least get the name right: I'm Rai Dei and while I've only pretended to be loyal to you for two years, I am actually loyal to Knives."

"Maybe you've got your priorities all screwed. I'm more handsome than he his. Ask anybody."

"You're a buffoon. I have no idea how you've been able to survive this long."

Vash smiled hugely. "Good news: you get to see it firsthand." And having said that, Vash attacked. Rai Dei jerked back just in time, but had to face facts: he hadn't seen Vash move. Reflexes alone had made him fall into a defensive stance.

It was lucky that he had such good reflexes because Vash kept flinging attacks at him that he barely managed to avoid. For the first time since being teamed with Vash, he got to see how he truly fought. It was a shock to realize that Vash had always held back before.

Rai Dei swung a little wildly, confident because he was the one with the weapon. Vash still came at him as if the blade made little to no difference. Punch after punch after kick somehow connected, but the sword never struck Vash. It was terribly clear: Vash was faster than he was. Barely two minutes into the spar and his sword went arching through the air. He'd been disarmed by an injured, unarmed man.

Or, rather, not a man at all. This occurred to him too late to make much of a difference. He had been well and truly outclassed.

"Got the picture now?" Vash asked, barely winded.

"Burn in hell," Rai Dei managed breathlessly.

Vash smirked, got in a roundhouse kick that sent Rai Dei flying and then dusted off his sleeves. "I really think you should have seen that one coming," he said helpfully under his breath. He went for his cell phone, but never reached it. There was a scuff of feet on the pavement behind him followed by a speeding sound of air, and he half turned to it. But it was too late to get out of the way of whatever was flying towards him. It barreled into him and he knew the angle was bad the minute he went tumbling down.

Something went crack and he had the bad feeling it was him. The minute he was down, he tried to roll over, succeeded and then wished he hadn't as a fist was the last thing he saw, streaking down to his face.

Lights out. And his last thought was almost as bad as the fist: that somebody had gotten the drop on him twice and that today, yeah, today was a pretty bad day.

---

The warden never came to visit. He assumed it was because she was content with him rotting down here. So the fact that she was there, and that she had brought a man Knives hated seeing more than any other really intrigued him. His little half of the cellblock hadn't seen this much activity in a long time.

"Agent Scanlon!" he said, standing and spreading his arms expansively. There was a sardonic smile on his face. "What an honor! Of all the men I wish I could gut, you're the one I hate the most!" Scanlon flinched, not at the words, but at the mannerisms accompanying them. They were unusual for Knives who was usually reserved and still. This flamboyance and humor was more like Vash. How much had they changed each other, Scanlon wondered.

"Millions, how are you holding up in your nice maximum security dog kennel today?"

"Oh, the same. They served chicken for lunch."

"That's good."

"I hate chicken."

"Oh."

Behind the warden were any number of guards, all of them looking either weary, or excessively fierce. Knives frowned. Something wasn't right.

"Where is Vash?" he asked.

The warden, a thin, no-nonsense woman named Elise Chabon, shook her head. "I'm sorry," was all she said before allowing Scanlon to step forward.

"Your brother has been taken," he said. Knives, already pale, went as white as bleached bone. "Taken?" he repeated.

"Early this afternoon, he was attacked outside his hotel by unknown assailants. He attempted to escape, but was subdued later on the highway. We have all of this from eyewitness reports."

Knives took a shaky step towards the thick glass keeping him from the world outside. "What are you doing here, then? Get my brother back! Now! Find who did this and make them pay!"

"We already know who did it. Members of your former gang have contacted us with the ransom demands."

"The FBI doesn't negotiate!" Knives hissed.

Chabon shook her head. "I don't think you understand. We are going to negotiate. That order came from the top."

Here she signaled to the guard on her left who brandished a key. Another stepped forward with shackles Knives recognized as those used for transporting criminals outside of the prison.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked, backing away from the entrance to the cage.

"Congratulations," Scanlon said. "You've just won your freedom."

---

Everything had been rushed through. Less than 48 hours after his abduction, the FBI had arranged an unprecedented operation to ensure the safety of Agent Vash Saverem. That morning, Scanlon had gone into the field office only to find his team listless, frightened, and in the case of Descartes and Elizabeth, angry and violent. They'd been betrayed by one of their own. Ryan had played them all for fools. Worse, he had put Vash in danger all for the sake of a madman.

Marianne looked lost and shattered. Julius was hardly better. Even Moore and Earl were red eyed as if from lack of sleep or tears.

"They can't be serious," Marianne said. "He's the most dangerous man in America. He's the next Manson! How could they agree to release him?"

Scanlon looked at his hands as if they held the answers. "Because they want Vash returned safely. The answer is as simple as that."

"And what if something goes wrong?" Elizabeth asked.

"Then we'll try something else. We're going to get him back. You have to believe that." Scanlon himself hardly looked as if he believed it. Perhaps it would have been less painful if they had taken Vash for granted. If they had never realized how unique and talented he was, it would have made his abduction, if not tolerable than...something. But that had never been the case for some of them, and only true for a brief time with the others. No, they had all valued him.

The task force demanded to be present at the exchange. "I want to be there, just in case," Moore said.

Descartes agreed, cracking his knuckles. "Yeah, just in case some shit goes down."

Scanlon, white faced and tense himself, obliged them.

---

An army of feds rolled out that afternoon, stoically silent in large black vans. The destination was a little-used airport on its last leg. Here and there, airplanes rested like sleeping giants beside empty terminals. In the center of the long line of federal vehicles that entered the complex, Knives sat in a prison van with his head bowed, staring at the shackles around his wrists with a dark expression. The guards in the van with him looked on coldly.

At the drop off point, they unloaded Knives with a fair amount of caution: their objective was to get through the entire operation with as little strife as possible. Scanlon was efficient and cool as he handed out orders and positioned his men.

Knives Millions stepped off the back of the armored wagon, escorted by Scanlon on his right, Marianne on his left, and Julius at his back. Across the way, the beat up van where they assumed Vash was hidden was waiting. It was surrounded by several other cars with no plates or markings. These opened and a gang of men emerged, each one toting a weapon. In short order, several big men stepped from the old van. Vash was pulled violently down onto the pavement. Only Marianne heard Knives' hiss of anger.

There was a moment when the feds and the gang regarded each other like soldiers across a battlefield.

Then Rai Dei was moving Vash forward by jerking him harshly. He didn't approach alone. At his back, over a dozen dangerous looking men and women followed. They all brandished their weapons and seemed itchy to use them.

Knives marched when told to do so, eyes trained angrily on the men before him. Everything was tense in the evening sun, too many weapons and dangerous men in one place at one time.

At last, they came to the center of the tarmac. Knives and Vash stood face to face without the glass for the first time. Knives felt something unclench inside him. He smiled and it reached his eyes. Vash smiled back.

"Hey, you," Vash said.

"Hey."

"You're much more handsome outside of jail."

"Release him," the man once known as Ryan said harshly to Marianne and Scanlon. Marianne unleashed a slew of ugly words at him and spat at his feet.

"Control yourself," Rai Dei scolded. "Talk like that and the world might realize what a cheap, worthless tramp you are."

Scanlon restrained her. "We want our agent back," he said.

Rai Dei shook his head. "We don't trust you at all, boss man. We'll do it all at the same time. But first, uncuff him or no deal."

He didn't seem to notice the hateful look Knives gave him.

Scanlon and Marianne shared a look. Finally, Scanlon nodded. Then he unlocked the shackles at Knives' wrists, neck and ankles. As he moved, he talked, laying down terms. Once Knives was free, he took a step back, hands up. "Okay, we played by your rules. Just leave Agent Saverem here and walk away."

Knives was rubbing at his free wrists. He looked so young and fresh that Marianne found herself unbalanced. She couldn't resolve the killer in her mind with the boy before her, relishing his freedom.

"Vash," Knives said with wonder in his voice. "I'm free."

"Yeah," Vash replied thickly. "Go."

"I'm free."

"What, do you want to play patty-cakes or something? Get going," Vash huffed.

"Master, please," Rai Dei hissed.

"Give me a moment!" Knives whirled to him and snapped. He turned again to his brother, all anger gone from his face. "This is how it was always supposed to be between us," he said. Vash nodded, understanding that he meant without walls or prisons or shackles.

He backed away, eyes trained on his brother. "Always."

At Rai Dei's frantic cries, he finally turned and ran towards the van.

Already Scanlon and Marianne were on Vash, untying his wrists and trying to move him without injuring him further: it was pretty obvious that he'd been beaten.

"Are you really okay?" Marianne asked, throwing her arms around him despite Scanlon's disapproving glare. He hugged her back. "Yeah. Mostly."

He wanted to add that his heart hurt and that he had missed an important date, but kept his mouth shut. Marianne, more than he, needed the comfort.

---

Knives stood before the doors to the van, protected by a wall of soldiers loyal to him. They brandished their guns, keeping the world away while Knives inured himself to the idea that he could move wherever he wanted. He stretched his arms wide.

Free again for the first time in two years.

Across the way, the feds were converging on his brother, touching him, crowding around them. His jaw clenched.

Rai Dei was still trying to rush him, certain that the minute the feds could, they would be after them again. Knives smirked at the idea that they'd catch him so easily. It had taken Vash to catch him the last time. Ordinary feds wouldn't stand a chance. He looked at Rai Dei with a grim smile stretched wide across his face.

"I'm free. I have you to thank."

"I live to serve you."

"Don't you, though? There is, however, one thing with your plan that I find distasteful."

"M-master, have I displeased you?" Rai Dei's eyes darted back and forth between Knives and his former federal allies. He licked his lips and it was clear he would rather be anywhere else. Knives realized that he had never seen the man frightened before. But this terror was not caused by him. He looked to where Rai Dei was staring: directly at Vash who was being ushered away, back into the welcoming arms of the FBI. The once recklessly bold Rai Dei was afraid of his brother and the idea was comical because, at the moment, the real danger was much, much closer.

"Indeed, you have. Did it ever occur to you that I would have left on my own eventually?"

"But then...why didn't you?"

"I was waiting for someone. Someone that you've used to bargain for my release. Now, knowing that he means so much to me, imagine how I must feel. I am free, but he is still a tool for the government machine. Do you suppose this pleases me?"

"N-no...?"

"No, you stupid child: it doesn't."

Knives turned back to the scene, aware of the feds who were, indeed, looking for a window to snatch him back. Over his shoulder, he said, "Gentlemen, I've had a change of heart."

His smile was wild and bright. "If you don't mind, I think I want my brother back."

There was a pause and then someone said, "You heard the man." There was a click-click of guns cocking. "Move out. Hit 'em hard and hit 'em fast."

The van rolled out, storming across the asphalt, men firing from the windows. The first volley of bullets was met in kind. But the feds, no matter how well-trained and prepared, were outclassed.

Rai Dei leapt into the foray with enthusiasm, the smaller E.G. Mine at his back. Bullets seemed to slide past them. The rest of the gang, human and barely, advanced.

Knives walked calmly through the fire fight, through the madness he had caused. He already knew his destination.

It was only when a wild volley of gunfire caused a federal van to suddenly erupt into flame that his calm shattered. The gas tank had been pierced, and the van erupted in a vomiting cloud of debris and smoke and flame. Bodies fell away from the blast.

The van itself seemed to leap into the air, then tumble over onto its back like a dead fish. Then the screams started.

One scream was louder than all the others. "VASH!" Knives wailed as his brother's form was obscured in the billowing cloud of dust and fire. There was a secondary explosion and he thought he saw a body flying through the destruction.

His world went blindingly silent. He could taste the color of red anger. Nothing made sense.

And then real chaos began as Knives let his anger be known.

---

Most of the blasts and shouts and bullets had stopped. Now there was just the aftermath. The smoke cleared before his face just enough for him to see a tire less than ten feet away. He pulled his injured arm close to his body and used the other to pull himself forward. He could feel cuts everywhere, blood threatening to run into his eyes. Quite suddenly, he was aware of a voice.

It was inside him and all around him, echoing like a waterfall.

"Rai Dei," it said.

"Master?"

Then daggers of pain were shooting up his body, as if he were being stabbed over and over. He screamed, rolled onto his back and arched, trying to elude the sensation of being butchered alive.

"Please! Master! What did I do?"

"Vash," was the answer. "You hurt him."

"No! I swear! I didn't lay a finger on him!" he screamed, lying as a last resort.

"Perhaps not, but it was your plan. I'd make you swear never to hurt him again, but I have a much better idea."

Rai Dei felt a tightening in his body, everything squeezing inwards, contracting like a giant muscle. He wasn't alive to feel the rest.

Knives strode forward through the ash and smoke and looked down at the mess he'd made. "You'll never hurt him again, now will you?"

And then he backed away. He was certain the smoke gave him enough cover that there was no reason to hurry. He navigated the littered collection of bodies nearest the blast, somewhat fearful that he had misjudged. He hadn't.

"Vash," he said and dropped onto one knee beside his brother. Vash's eyes were open, but wild.

"Knives? Why can't I hear?"

"You were too close to the blast," he answered, knowing his brother couldn't hear, but wanting to offer some kind of comfort. He pulled him up into his arms. His hands wouldn't stay still; they kept gliding over Vash's arms and torso, checking for wounds or damage of any kind. It took a moment for him to identify the fluttering anxiousness in his stomach as fear. He was so terribly afraid that Vash was hurt or worse that he could hear the rushing of his blood through his body, three times as fast as it was supposed to be; the banging recklessness of his heart on adrenaline.

He pulled Vash close and then closer. "You're fine now. I have you." Holding him felt good.

Lifting him and staggering forward once again, Knives let his feet lead him to a car left abandoned by the feds. The keys were in the ignition. He deposited Vash in the back seat, securing him as best as he could with what he could find. He looked around for the remains of his gang, called to them. They signaled back their understanding, ready to flee. That complete, he took the wheel, panicked enough to drive a little carelessly until he reminded himself of his cargo.

"We're together now," he whispered.

---

Wolfwood wasn't sure how he was standing. His fear was that he was going to faint or something equally over the top. He put the key in the lock and realized he wasn't quite breathing. Vash was gone and the world was the piece of shit place he'd always known it to be.

Scanlon had contacted him soon after he received the ransom call. That was two days ago.

"Detective Wolfwood," he had called him. That alone had let him know something was wrong. And then the bottom had fallen out of everything. The man's assurances that the FBI was doing everything in their power to get Vash back failed to console him.

He'd been dancing with Legato while Vash was fighting for his life. And what if the worst had happened?

If he had known back in that bar that the bliss of finally having Vash would be so tainted by the pain of losing him soon after, he would have run the other way.

His fears were realized as the news showed a shaky image of an airfield, or what had once been an airfield. Billows of smoke clouded the view and fire leapt defiantly in the face of fire hoses. A reporter with windblown hair explained the scene. There had been an operation to retrieve a high-ranking FBI official. It had all gone terribly wrong and now a criminal was on the loose and the federal agent had once again been taken captive. They had yet to receive further ransom demands from the men responsible. Wolfwood felt himself go numb from the top of his head down to his feet.

Knives' rescuers had double-crossed Scanlon. Instead of returning Vash in exchange for their boss' safety, they had kept him. Wolfwood understood all too well: they had no intention of trading Vash for further favors. Vash was what they wanted. They were going to hold him, risking the wrath of the entire FBI.

He shut off the TV. It was silent in his apartment. If his old T.O. were here, he'd say that life moved on. He'd tell him to get back to the case, that he could help the world best by taking down Livio, not worrying about what Knives planned to do with Vash and why.

He was a day, maybe two, away from a major break. He didn't give a fuck. What everything boiled down to was that he wanted Vash back, now, and that he was capable of doing some crazy shit to make that happen. He was supposed to have had Vash, in his crappy house that was only ever any good when Vash was in it, to himself. He was supposed to have been able to make it up to him. The fights, the lies, the years of nothing when there should have been something. All he had now was the empty room and the cold bed and the sick, worried feeling in his gut.

Yes, he was capable and willing of many things to remedy the problem.

He thought of the utmost extreme, the most terrible thing you could do for someone. He tried to conjure up the disgust that he knew Vash would expect and absolutely couldn't.

No, he was more than willing to do that, too. If it got Vash back, it was a sin of the lesser kind, if only for one day.

And as for other sins, they were drops in the bucket. One sin in particular, one demon in particular, he would face without regret.

When he made his decision, it was with relief. He was already up and out the door before his mind had even put together the details.

---

Out of sight, hidden from Wolfwood as he strapped on his helmet, a radio buzzed to life in a solitary van.

"He's on the move," a man said into the radio. On the receiving end, his voice came out grainy, like an old record.

"Keep on him," a voice Wolfwood would have found familiar replied. "We'll have the teams ready."

The grubby bike pulled into the street, Wolfwood unaware of the dark van that followed so closely.

---

It was the pristine world again, blue and ethereal. He was on his back and Rem was talking to him.

She wasn't how he remembered her. She was too young, too wide-eyed. It was the way she had looked before she married Alex. He had only ever seen her this way in pictures.

She ran a hand down his face. Framed by the sky and the white clouds behind her, she seemed angelic.

"Rem, everything hurts," he said. For the first time in his life, he wondered if he should call her mom. He knew it was only because it would make him feel more normal.

"Oh, baby, shhh. Don't worry about that now. That's how you know you're alive. Worry when it stops hurting," she answered.

He was speechless for a moment, the bizarre overlap making him sputter. As if his mind were trying to correct the discrepancy, quite suddenly, his adopted mother's long hair morphed, became shorter and darker. Her features changed.

"Nick," he said softly, looking up at his partner. Wolfwood framed by the same blue sky did not seem angelic. It was impossible for Wolfwood to look like anything other than what he was: a wolf in wolf's clothing. Vash knew it was a dream now—that he wasn't truly in the strange world he shared with his brother. His subconscious had conjured it up and given him what he needed most, who he needed most.

"Hey, partner," the Wolfwood in his mind answered. He smiled winningly, just a hint of wry humor in the expression, and Vash was taken aback. This was his partner from over four years ago. It was the confident, camera-loving detective who had charmed a whole city, sarcastic and only a little dark. The tired, almost haggard, beaten and cynical man who he had become was like a bad memory here. The inconsistency was the beginning of his return to reality. He could feel the dream weakening at the edges, fading away like the farther reaches of a digital world in a video game.

Wolfwood looked up at the patches of sky that were no longer holding together. He lifted his brows at Vash. "You brought me here for a reason?"

Vash nodded stiffly, realizing that he had, indeed, conjured the man for a purpose. He had something he wanted to tell him. So he whispered the truth and it was even harder to say than he had imagined. He spoke for a long time, adding details that he knew weren't necessary. When he was finished, he waited.

Wolfwood's reaction was surprising. He cupped Vash's cheek. "Between you and me, none of that matters."

"Yeah?"

"Oh, yeah. I think we both know what really matters." There was a playful leer to his expression and Vash wanted to laugh.

Quite suddenly, he felt his body relax, relieved. As the sky above him began to flicker and Wolfwood with it, he found himself wishing intensely that this wasn't a dream, that he could have really told Wolfwood the truth. That he would grant him understanding once he did.

The last thing Wolfwood said as reality sank in was, "We are," and Vash didn't know if that was the beginning of a sentence of the whole of it. And then the shocking sound of his own breathing was all he could hear, the dream fading away, a memory lost to him forever.

---

Vash awoke surrounded by soft white. His mind slowly resolved the image into one of crisp cotton sheets pooling around him. He sat up. He was in a quaint room in whites and pastels on a bed too comfortable to be real. It was all so surreal that he wondered if he had died after all.

The pain all over his body told him that he was very much alive. He wasn't exactly sure what was broken or just sprained, but he had serious reasons to worry about his legs.

Tranquil ocean noises reached his ears and the sound of gulls swooping overhead joined in on the chorus.

To his left was a door. He was thinking of climbing out of bed just as it opened. Knives came into the room with a tray of ice water, pain killers, and a damp cloth. Seeing Vash, he sat everything down on a nearby table and hurried over. Neither man spoke, not even when Knives was sitting on the bed beside him, one leg hitched up onto the sheets and the other planted firmly on the ground. He leaned forward and caught Vash by the shoulders. His eyes scanned over his face and body, double checking what he already knew.

"You're fine," he said, relief in his face and words.

When Vash nodded, the expression increased tenfold. An irresistible lightness seemed to buoy Knives up, a strange feeling of joy. He felt it so strongly that he couldn't stop himself: he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Vash's. Both of them froze at the contact, eyes open and surprised. Yet, even shocked by his own actions as he was, Knives didn't break the kiss, nor did he deepen it.

He didn't know what it meant, but knew it wasn't exactly wrong, either.

When he did pull away, it was only to kiss Vash on either cheek and then rest his forehead against his. They sat together that way until Vash gently pushed him away.

"Knives, you didn't have to do what you did. A lot of people were hurt."

Clear blue eyes went suddenly flinty. "It was for a good reason. Was I supposed to let them take you, let them continue to use you like some kind of weapon for their private war?"

"I'm there of my own volition."

"You're a tender-hearted fool and I refuse to let anyone take advantage of you again."

"But you're the exception to that?"

"This is different." He looked unblinkingly into Vash's eyes. "I'll protect you."

"I can take care of myself." That was something he believed wholeheartedly. More importantly, he knew that Wolfwood did too.

"Yes, like you did when they took you from in front of your hotel?"

"There were four of them."

"Which should have been nothing to you."

"I did eventually get away, you know."

"Only to fall to Rai Dei and that fool E.G. Mine. You don't know how to use the gifts you have been given. I can show you."

Here he stroked the side of Vash's face. The look in his eye said he was contemplating kissing him again.

Vash let him. In pain as he was, he fell back gratefully when Knives gently pushed him. He came to rest atop of Vash, lips soft and exploratory on his cheek, his forehead and temple.

"I can show you," he murmured. "And then you can fight back when they try to...try to touch you. And then you'll never leave me."

"Knives—"

His breath was on Vash's ear now, ticking the sensitive skin there as he spoke. "Will you stay with me? Tell me yes or no."

Vash held his breath, waiting for some solution to come to him. His brother's hands on him; his brother's mouth on him; his brother's chilling eyes probing his own, expecting an answer.

---

He had no idea how to make Legato come to him on any normal day. How could he be sure that Legato would come at all? When the possibility of addictive, violent sex was slim to none? Did he have to go make him jealous again by dancing with a stranger?

He lit a cigarette, hands shaking nervously, and looked down at the gravestone. There were no answers here, just another chance to pour salt on the wound.

"Well, you son of a bitch, this is probably the most attention you've gotten in over twenty years. I'm still glad you're dead. Kill you again if I had the chance."

He dropped ash onto the grass before the headstone and smashed it down with his foot. Then he took a deep breath. "If you're here, I need to talk to you."

It was less than a minute later that Legato, dressed in a slick black shirt and white overcoat, stepped into his line of vision. "And what changed from one day to the next? Do you just need a good fuck, or is this another half-hearted attempt to arrest me?"

Wolfwood's jaw flexed. "I want answers."

"Oh, Chapel, you always want answers. It's bizarre how rarely you receive them."

"I can't fight with you now. I don't have the time or the energy."

"Oh, I see. Detective, then, is it?"

Wolfwood didn't rise to the bait. "I don't care what you call me, just tell me the truth. Was it you? Did you take him?"

Legato sighed. "No, Detective. Hurting your partner would be rather tasteless in light of our particular arrangement, don't you think?"

Wolfwood almost took a step back, so hard did those words strike him. Is that what they had? An 'arrangement'? He didn't want to think about their bizarre relationship in such brutally forward terms. It made it too fatalistic, as if there had never been a chance for him to win at all. More than that, it made it seem as if he had known all along and had played along to satisfy his, and Legato's, desires.

The issue was too volatile for him to approach. He avoided it all together, saying, "You didn't take him, but you know who did."

"I know and so do you. Who has him is not the mystery here, is it?" His voice was snappish, almost childish with irritation. Wolfwood realized that there was more here to Legato's anger than simple irritation, but didn't have the time to care.

He blinked while shaking his head. "Where is he?"

"Telling you is equivalent to sending you to your death."

"You don't know that!"

"Yes, I do. Obviously your partner was no match against them and you know what he is." Wolfwood's troubled expression showed that he did indeed finally have an inkling in regards to the extraordinary thing that Vash was. Still...

"You have to tell me," he said at last, pleading with his eyes, though his voice was as hard as ever. "I can't sit here and do nothing. They could be leaving the city for all I know. You just have to tell me."

"No," Legato said simply. "I don't." His mouth opened nervously when he found Wolfwood in his personal space, clutching the collar of his jacket in white-knuckled fists. "Please," Wolfwood said. "Please," he repeated again and again. No other word came from his lips as he leaned closer. His face had fallen into a look of despair. "Dammit, please!"

Legato looked down at him, his eyes hardening with emotion. He pushed him away but everything about his body language said he wanted nothing but to do the opposite.

He turned away and might have cursed under his breath. What he finally said over his shoulder was, "We don't have much time. Let's go."

---

Legato didn't scoff at the bike. Instead, he climbed in behind Wolfwood, wrapped his arms around him and held on. Wolfwood felt his heart thunder. Even at a time like this when their bizarre relationship was the farthest thing from his mind, nothing could deny the attraction between them.

He handed his helmet back to Legato, who didn't question the reason behind the gesture. And then with a powerful rev, Wolfwood took to the street, following Legato's directions. The day faded into dark. For a moment before the sun finally died, the sky was a marbled bowl of pinks and oranges. The jerk of the bike vibrated their bodies together and Wolfwood bit his lip.

All too soon, they were outside the city limits, heading towards open expanses of water traversed by crisscrossing bridges. Legato squeezed him to get his attention and he slowed the bike.

Silently, he parked the machine in an out of the way parking lot under a cluster of trees. It wasn't exactly well hidden, but it was easy to find again.

"This is it?" Wolfwood asked. He didn't take his eyes off of the white building below. It faced the water and looked comfortable and lush. This was obviously a place Knives had regarded as a home. His nomadic lifestyle and tendency to fall off the face of the earth had always been one of his strengths. The feds probably didn't even know this place existed. It was as far removed from his small home in Hale Beach as could be. This was a high-rise mansion on the water. It looked as if it had once been a condominium, but there were no cars in the lot.

Legato answered softly. "This is where they are. They don't have anywhere else to go now, thanks to you and Vash."

Wolfwood shook his head. Legato's anger at the dissolution of his gang was not important now. They both stood to lose a lot if Vash could not be retrieved safely. Legato hadn't said as much, but he knew what the feds would do to his former comrades if any harm came to Vash. He knew very well that they would hunt all of them down, worse than before, and make them suffer. Enjoy it, even.

Wolfwood was hardly foolish enough not to realize this as well. Vash was valuable to too many people and if they couldn't get him back...

"I'm going in," he said.

"Alone?"

"If I have to."

"Without a plan?"

"Well, yeah. Unless you've got one."

Legato regarded him coldly. "Sometimes I wonder how you ever almost caught me so many times."

"I had time to think then. Now I don't. I'd rather go in there half-cocked and have a chance of getting him back than waste time thinking up a plan that may or may not work while they split out of town. If they leave now, I'll never track them down. You people have too many operations."

"Even after you shut so many of them down trying to capture me?"

"I doubt I got even half of them."

"You didn't," Legato said with what might have been a smile on anyone else, but was too dead and broken on his face. He regarded Wolfwood clinically and then said. "Well, if you insist on this insanity, I might be able to help you."

Wolfwood's expression was distrustful but, "I'd appreciate that," was all he said. Legato nodded, curtly, then outlined his plan.

---

Vash came to. He got the feeling he'd been dreaming again, but it was gone now, lost under the pain.

His first reaction was to smirk. Then he stared grimly at the bars all around him and rubbed at his cheek. His answer had been honest, and, apparently, wrong. He definitely had Knives beat when it came to speed, but when it came to hitting hard and mercilessly targeting everywhere that hurt, Knives was king. He fought a little dirty, like a Marine on shore leave or—

Vash frowned.

Or like a street kid, which is what he had been.

He tried to dredge up some anger for his brother, but only felt a kind of sad disappointment. He was one of those men who could be great, but who never quite grew up enough to see the world through anything but a child's eyes. He was squandering all the things he had been given. Knives was smart and powerful and determined, but the most he ever did with it was terrify and control. What he was doing was wrong, selfish even. Knives wanted something—namely, Vash, by his side, compliant and receptive to his ideas and way of life—and he wanted it by his rules, his terms.

Vash wouldn't give it to him, hence the cage, a sturdy steel affair as heavy as anything had rights to be. It sat in a wide area that might have once been for storage in the basement of the tall building. The cage didn't budge and he couldn't even pick the lock because he had nothing on him: no pins, no paper clips, no nothing.

Thorough, his brother was. Bloody thorough.

The man in question had just walked into the room, tall, thin and frighteningly comfortable in his skin. He was accompanied by a very compact man with wild hair and eyes. Vash recognized him from the fight at the airfield. Towering over both of them was a dark-haired and handsome man. Only the distinct scars beneath his eye marred his good looks. Vash recognized him as the man from the surveillance photo taken of Legato Bluesummers. This was the powerful crime lord known only as Livio.

Vash tried to move to a less vulnerable appearing position and had to stifle a wince. Knives almost seemed to pity him.

"Are you comfortable?" he asked.

"Uh, hmmm. Let me think about that. I guess I'm going to go with 'no' for 300, Alex."

Knives was not amused, but Livio cracked a smile. The small one only stared down at his feet with bloodshot eyes. It appeared as if he had been crying.

"Do you know why I've put you here?"

"You're going to charge the little children five dollars a pop to see me? I'll do tricks for peanuts."

This time Livio turned away and cleared his throat.

The strong muscle at Knives' jaw flexed. "I had hoped it would give you time to think about where you belong."

"And right you were!" Vash said with a grunt as his ankle throbbed. "My time in this cage has been time well spent. I have decided that I belong on a beach with young, attractive women attending to my needs. Do you think you can swing that for me?"

Knives shook his head. "I don't understand you."

"No, you don't. It's mutual." Vash sighed and looked a little lost. "All jokes aside, what are you expecting, here, eh? You think this will change my mind? Do you think this will make me see your point of view? Knives, you're my brother and I can forgive a lot, but this is nuts. Let me help you."

Knives moved close to the glass. "It's the other way around now, isn't it," he said softly. "You in there, me out here. How does it feel?"

"It feels like shit and you know it."

"Yes, I do. We aren't supposed to be separated by bars or ideals. Certainly not by them. Do you remember how good it felt to be on the same side for once? I could hold you. I could protect you. If that means nothing to you," here he paused and looked away, "then stay in there until it does."

At that moment, there was a strange rumble. The building shook gently, and then was still.

"What the hell was that?" Livio asked, hands out to his side as he attempted to balance his big body. The smaller man was looking around in panic. "I knew it!" he hissed. "They've already come for him!"

"Shut up!" Livio cursed. He turned to his boss once the tremor stopped. "That wasn't an earthquake. That was a goddamn explosion. You want me to check it out?"

"No, I want you to stay here. I'll go look."

"Not by yourself," Livo said with concern. "I've got some of my boys with me. Take them with you. Please, sir." He was already reaching for his cell phone.

Knives nodded. "Yes. All right." At that, Livio placed a call in clipped, efficient tones.

"They're on their way to escort you."

Knives nodded, the only sign of his approval for Livio's quick, efficient handling of things. "Then we'll go see who has come calling."

The little one jerked as Knives passed by him. "Master? What should I—"

"E.G.," Knives said to him, "Watch over my brother. He's...important to me." He handed a key over to the man without really noticing him. "Move him if anything should go wrong. Keep him safe." He looked at Vash then with one lingering, almost hungry look, and then strode off to meet the thuggish gang of men who had come for him.

"Knives! You're handling this all wrong!" Vash cried out. He was terrified. What if that explosion had been his team come to rescue him? What if they were hurt?

Worse, what if Wolfwood had come for him? It was too much to even think about.

Knives didn't reply. Instead, he kept his back to his brother, not wanting to see him like that, and moved through the darkened halls of the building. It was always so quiet here. Always so empty. The building was too big for just him. Once, there had been life here. Who was left but Livio and E.G.?

The men at his back were so...common. Livio commanded them well, but Knives couldn't think of them as anything except dead weight, best for catching bullets. He took a corner, following what sounded like the splash of water, like sprinklers dousing a fire. Surely the blast had come from this part of the building.

He suddenly stopped walking.

At the end of the hallway, a man was waiting for him. His body language was confrontational. The thugs at his back were already aiming. Knives didn't expect them to be able to fire off even a single shot. He was correct.

In an instant, the wet, butchered sound of meat ripping met his ears. In the next, there was an artful spray of blood arching through the air around him. The barest splatter hit his cheek and he wiped it away. The sloppy, sickening sound of bodies splashing to the floor was the last sound before there was nothing but silence.

"Knives," Legato said, then seemed to reconsider. "Master," he added, but hardly sounded humble. Knives took a step forward to remove himself from the gore behind him.

He stretched his arms wide, a wild grin on his face. "Well, look at us! Look at what we have become." He was hawk-like as he neared his former pupil, lieutenant, and favorite. "You're leading in my place, if what Livio says is correct. Traveling across the country to bail out your siblings when the FBI comes knocking."

His head rolled back on his neck in a motion of serpentine agitation. A loud crack sounded as his bones settled into place again. "And you left me to rot in jail in your place. The only one I ever truly trusted betrayed me."

Legato might have winced, but the shadows hid every reaction.

"Are you going to fight me?" Knives asked. Legato had yet to move nearer, but Knives was closing the distance between them. "Are you going to try to hurt me again?"

He paused before Legato, close enough that his eyes moved quickly over his face, incapable of taking in everything at once. Legato's remained steady, as if he didn't need to see everything at all.

"You haven't aged a day. You never will," Legato said quietly. "You're still just as beautiful as when I first saw you. What is my defection to you? You can always form another army, always find another servant. Time means nothing to you."

"No, it doesn't. But I can be hurt," he said and raised a hand. When is slid down Legato's cheek, his eyes fluttered. "Master," he repeated, as soft as a prayer.

Knives leaned in close, placed his forehead tenderly against Legato's. "You hurt me. You abandoned me. I saved you and you left me to the wolves." His breath was hot against Legato's mouth. "I hate you."

It wasn't a punch, it was a force, and it swept Legato into the air and away. He landed on the floor, arms splayed and eyes shocked. Then he was on his feet again, graceful, aware that a fight had begun. It wasn't one he was certain he could win.

He lashed out and the power kicked up dust and floor as it moved straight for Knives. Arms raised before his face, Knives braced against it and the energy and dust split away from him like waves breaking on a shore. A small trickle of blood streamed down his face. He dabbed at it, surprise in his every feature.

"You've gotten stronger. I wonder why. It wasn't me, so who was it? Who awakened this power inside you?"

Legato screamed and sent another wave flying, muscles straining. This one pushed his former master back and a flying piece of debris broke through the barrier, slashing at his cheek. Knives hissed. Everything about his reaction showed that he was unaccustomed to pain and didn't like it.

"You should do your own fighting more, Master. Too many have done your dirty work for you. It's made you weak."

"I am never that."

Legato made a strangled noise and staggered back. Blood seeped through the fabric of his clothing at the shoulder. An old wound, an old bullet wound from a man he hated. It was open again and bleeding, as if it had never healed at all.

"A souvenir from my brother, I believe," Knives said and wiped at his cheek, smearing blood on his face and sleeve. "Have I told you about him? He is everything you never were. I have found the real thing, what you were merely a substitute for."

Legato doubled over, clutching at his shoulder. His face turned red. A blast of his power was as weak as a child's push and Knives smiled triumphantly. "It was always this way, wasn't it? When you're in pain, you lose control. You lose focus."

He stood over Legato, grabbed his shoulder and squeezed. He laughed when Legato went down on one knee, grunting and coughing.

"You can suffer the pain, but you can't move beyond it. Vash, he is different. He is so used to pain, all he does it keep going in spite of it. He could barely walk and he still tried to fight me. Can you believe that? He is a miracle. He is what I always needed by my side."

Legato managed a humorless laugh. "He will never choose you."

The peaceful, scheming look fell off of Knives' face. "What?"

"Vash has his loyalties figured out already. He has no reason to choose you."

"Ah. I see. Choose me over him,you mean?"

"I know Vash better than you think. If it comes down to choosing you or choosing Chapel, he will choose Chapel. Every time."

He screamed when Knives squeezed harder, his thumb pushing soaked fabric into the wound deeper and deeper. "And there you are wrong. He will side with me, even if it is only because he believes he can save me. He is that naïve. But he is strong, smart, and capable. I need him. More than I ever needed you."

Legato laughed again. "He is strong. He is probably stronger than you. If he refuses to side with you, you are no match. All the reasons you want him are all the reasons you will lose."

The anger twisting Knives' face was almost tangible in the air. As plainly as he might assess the weather, Legato knew: Knives was going to kill him.

And just as suddenly, just as plainly, he realized something else:

He didn't want to die. Not now.

"If the Detective is the root of the problem, I can destroy him just as easily as I'm going to destroy you. Vash can't chose a dead man, now can he?"

Legato felt heat and pressure building behind his eyes. No, not now.

The force of it made his head scream. It pounded against the protective walls around Knives, clawed at them, and then finally broke through in a burst of energy. Something twisted, ripped and then bled.

Knives gurgled and stumbled back, clutching at his stomach. Blood slowly bubbled up at his lips. He looked so surprised, so shocked it was almost comical. He sputtered on a few words. Legato stood shakily.

"The one who can't understand pain is you."

Knives went down on his knees and Legato touched his face, tilting his head up so that their eyes could meet.

"This won't kill me," Knives rasped. "I'll always be here."

Legato backed away and left Knives for the last time. "Yes, and you'll be alone."

Knives curled onto his side on the floor, hunching around the fire in his gut, hating the world.

---

All Vash could do now was slump back and wait.

He turned half an ear to the argument that was going on outside his cell. It wasn't a terribly interesting one and it had been going on for at least five minutes by the time he decided to tune in. The two rough and tumble looking men were talking about him as if he weren't in the room at all. It made him feel like furniture, but not in a good, cushy, sensible and affordable, room-brightening way.

"They're gonna come crashing in here with the whole damn agency to get him back," the smaller man whom he had learned was named E.G. screamed. "It was supposed to be a trade. And Rai Dei! You didn't see what he did to Rai Dei. I can't even focus, man. How am I supposed to fucking think without Rai Dei?"

"Calm down!" reprimanded Livio, an altogether more reasonable man who was still frightening simply because of his size and blind loyalty.

E.G. sputtered angrily. "I can't calm down and we gotta get rid of him. They're just gonna keep lookin' for him."

"Even if you're right times a hundred and four, it don't make no never mind. The boss wants him around, so we deal with it."

"The boss doesn't have to know. I don't trust him anymore, anyway. I don't like how he..." he sniffed a little and then coughed, as if he couldn't fight anger and despair at the same time. "What if Saverem just...went missing"

There was a long pause. "Who called hunting season? You're not thinking of giving him back. You're thinking of offing him."

"Better that than have to deal with the feds."

"I'll take the feds pissed off over Knives. What went down went down because Knives wanted it that way. He won't like it if the guy he went through a lot of trouble to keep around suddenly goes up and missing. We do what Knives says and that's the end of it. We can take the heat for him this once since he's always taken it for us. That's final. I outrank you, so deal."

"Where are you going?" E.G. cried after the larger man, who had turned to go.

"I need a smoke and to get away from your tired, lazy ass. You keep pretty boy company. Touch a blonde hair on his head, and you'll be scraping your nuts off the pavement."

Livio was gone for less than a minute before E.G.'s nervousness took hold of him. He paced back and forth, letting his eyes drift to the captive in the cage only when he was relatively sure that Vash wasn't looking at him in return. Finally, the uncertainty he felt took the form of a panicky monologue addressed, apparently, to no one but himself.

"It wasn't our fault. It wasn't our fault. Stuck with this ticking time bomb, twice as dangerous as the boss and it wasn't our fault. Not Rai Dei's. He was...he was..."

He paused before the bars and looked at Vash with passionate distaste. "It's like I have a mouse in a trap. Just so pretty, aren't you? And he loves you. He loves you so fucking bad and he killed Rai Dei. Like he treats me. Like dirt. Like I don't even matter. But you matter to him. Offing you? Yeah, I could teach him how it feels. He'll know what it's like to watch what matters the most to him bleed out before his eyes."

Vash shook his head. "You deaf or just stupid? The whole nut scraping thing didn't have an effect? Not even a little one?"

"Getting rid of you makes things easier for me, that's true," E.G. said as if Vash hadn't spoken at all. He suddenly pulled a heavy gun Vash recognized as a magnum from the back of his jeans. "Fish in a barrel? Mouse in a barrel? It just wasn't my fault. Rai Dei," he finished on a sob.

He aimed.

There was a noise like a war starting. E.G. spun and looked behind him as if he expected to see an explosion or something to explain the violent sound. When he saw nothing, he called into the darkness, "Livio?"

There was no reply.

He turned back to Vash. The man in the cage was looking just as disturbed by the terrible noise as E.G. himself. But behind the fear was hope. E.G. smirked. "I do believe they've come for you. I told Livio that they would. I did. Well, if they want you, they can have you. In pieces."

He aimed once more.

And never got a chance to fire. He went down, and as his body tumbled, the figure of a man in black was revealed behind him, apparently the reason he had collapsed. Wolfwood propped a heavy looking pipe on the ground. Then he secured his gun in the back of his pants, dropped down beside E.G.'s body, and began to rifle through his clothing. He didn't spare a look at Vash, but worked in silence.

When he had the key, he got the lock open, and entered. Then he crouched over Vash, checking quickly the extent of his injuries. He had yet to look him in the eye.

"Can you walk?"

"Not exactly." He looked into the dark beyond his prison, nervous. "I think we should hurry, there was another one."

"Yeah, there was," Wolfwood agreed. It was then that Vash noticed the angry looking bruise on his cheek. "Your face," he said.

Wolfwood shrugged. "You should see the other guy? Or something like that."

Then he was speaking softly, detailing how they were going to get out of here, where they were going once they were out. He wasn't sure where Knives was, but he was certain that he was...'distracted' was the word he settled on eventually. Vash wasn't sure he wanted to know what that meant. Through it all, Wolfwood's eyes never once settled on his. And he knew they were still walking the edge of things after the fight, and that they had never discussed it properly, but he'd thought they were okay. He'd wanted them to be okay.

Wolfwood's eyes slipped off of him again, like water down a roof.

Finally, Vash had had enough. "Look at me," he said.

Wolfwood did. There was quite a lot in his eyes and it made Vash's fears trickle away. He'd been right: one lousy fight wasn't enough to end this. Maybe one hundred wouldn't make much of a dent either. Vash found himself wanting to smile, but didn't.

"Put your arms around me," Wolfwood said softly. "Let's get you out of here."

Vash wound his arms around his neck, thought about how corny this might look to an outside observer; like a bad movie or a worse TV show. Wolfwood stood and Vash winced.

"Sorry," said Wolfwood, trying his best to gently remove him from the small space. He got him out of the cage, stepping lightly. He set him down long enough to lock E.G. in the cage. Then he was back at Vash's side and Vash was back in his arms.

Vash studied him. Wolfwood's features were set and determined. The arms around him were thin but strong. He had the strangest idea that this really was a romantic moment. And if it were a movie, he'd kiss the guy who had saved him. Maybe he'd even say something sappy and romantic before doing the deed and then the sun would set behind them and fireworks would light the sky.

But this wasn't a movie, Vash thought. Then he figured, to hell with the movies.

Wolfwood moaned into the kiss. In reply, Vash just wound his arms tighter around his neck, pulled him as close as he could. He was in pain everywhere but here, right here where their lips met. Here felt pretty good.

Wolfwood's stubble scratched his face and he smelled like sweat and tasted like tobacco and adrenaline. Vash wasn't sure what he tasted like, but doubted it was good. But Wolfwood licked at his mouth like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted. Vash understood: he had developed an unhealthy fondness for the taste of tobacco.

It was Wolfwood who broke the kiss. He rested his forehead against Vash's and said, practically, "After we get out of here. After you can walk."

Vash nodded. He'd heard what Wolfwood had really said which was something like, "If we get our of here. If we live to see daylight."

It sounded more promising to Vash than it should. He was sure they'd been in worse situations before. And hell, he'd waited five years to be able to kiss the guy, one night was just details.

"How did you find me?" he asked. Pain helped hide the suspicion in his voice. "How'd you get in?"

"Did I ever tell you about that guy Kaite knows who makes explosives?"

"Explosives?"

"Explosives. Lots of them. All different shapes and sizes. They work good on locked doors."

Vash nodded as the tremors were explained. "And all of Livio's gang? You did that single-handed?"

"Oh. Well, no. I had a little help from an old friend," Wolfwood said, knowing already that Vash understood.

Vash took a small, quiet breath. "Is he here?"

"He is."

"Yeah, today freakin' sucks," said under his breath.

Then there was silence for several minutes as he helped Vash limp through the twists and turns of the hallway. "For a skinny guy," he grumbled, trying to distribute the weight more evenly.

Vash winched, paused, and gingerly touched his leg. "Maybe it's just a sprain?"

Wolfwood pushed up the leg of Vash's slacks to the sound of the man stifling a hiss. "That one, yeah. But this one looks bad."

"It feels bad. Good to know looks aren't deceiving in this case. Honesty is the best policy."

"Not up to standard. You need rest if you're gonna try for the wise cracks. Can you make it to my bike?"

"What, no white horse?"

"Just a dirty, old, beat up motorcycle. Hardly good enough for you, your worship."

"I'll take what I can get. I have to be back before I turn into a pumpkin. Just so you know."

Wolfwood and Vash moved through the building to the front door, unmolested. Outside, they stumbling forward a little as light blasted against their eyes. The scene before them made them pull up short in shock. Twin helicopters soared low and then split apart, lights wildly dancing across the asphalt. Officers and agents stood in uniform lines everywhere they looked. They moved forward, surrounded the two figures limping from the complex. Others streamed past them in an endless wave. Under the moonlight, their shadows were like an army all by themselves, strange and deformed. Their breath steamed in the air.

Vash and Wolfwood exchanged confused looks. "Who called the cavalry?" Vash tried to joke. He shivered in the cold breeze off the water. Both of them had a fair idea of what was going on. Wolfwood watched everything as if it were in slow motion: the lights sweeping around them, the armored S.W.A.T. team with their guns, the flash of the squad cars.

A man who later turned out to be a special agent in a unit Vash had never had cause to work with ran to meet them, screaming orders. It was all a blur, the ambulance, the sound of dozens of footsteps racing towards a building that they would find silent as the grave. Silent, but not empty.

"Agent Saverem!" they shouted. "We have you. The situation is under control."

Suddenly, the agents and officers moved forward, intent on one goal. Wolfwood watched as Vash was dragged away from him. "No!"

Vash shouted something back, but was overwhelmed by people trying to 'protect him.'

Wolfwood looked at Vash's shouting face as if watching it from far away, like a movie screen. Agent Scanlon was running up. His eyes were filled with worry for Vash, and then they turned calculating when they settled on Wolfwood. He gestured to several agents who immediately headed in his direction.

Another shout joined the cacophony. "Sir, drop your weapon and put your hands up."

Wolfwood looked over his shoulder at the white building.

He looked at the stern-faced agents with their guns. He knew why they were here. He knew who had led them here.

He looked back at Vash and saw the exact moment Vash understood what he was going to do.

And then he did it. Vash was shouting at him and Scanlon was screaming and Wolfwood didn't care.

"Hold your fire, we want him alive!"

Turning on his heels, he ran back into the building. Back to Legato.

---

In a dark hallway on the south side of the building, Legato stood beside a window and then carefully peered out of it. He saw the scene—the cops the suits, the ambulance—but he wasn't thinking about it. He hurt; everywhere Knives had hurt him cried out, but even that didn't register.

He was alive.

Wolfwood had eyes the color of indigo dye.

He was alive.

Wolfwood had been warm in the morning, curled up beside him on a bed. And he lied easily with his smoky, accented voice. Tasted like liquor and sin and moved like a shadow. The first time he'd seen him, it had been raining. He'd thought his head was going to explode from all the disparate ideas and feelings buzzing inside it. Wolfwood had taken his breath away then.

He still did.

The entire world was waiting outside for him. For Livio and all that was left of his gang. For Knives, wherever he was. He'd left him there, helpless and in pain, his body a little twisted, just like his mind. Maybe, life was more balanced than he'd ever imagined. He heard footsteps, but didn't turn around. No one else walked like that.

"And is your boyfriend in one piece, or were we too late?"

"He's fine, thanks to you. You saved his life."

"More's the pity." A trickle of blood caught on the corner of his lip. He licked it away. Wolfwood saw nothing but the tense, long line of his back. Perhaps he was grateful for that. They were so high up and everything looked so small down there.

Wolfwood raised an eyebrow. "Now I'm damned confused." He deliberately ignored the sound of a helicopter overhead to ask, "If you didn't want to, then why'd you do it? You still sweet on him after that kiss?" Wolfwood couldn't believe he was joking at a time like this. Vash was rubbing off on him.

Legato ignored the helicopter, and the failed attempt at humor. "Not for his sake," he said gruffly.

"Then for Knives'?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"Dammit, if you want me to say it so badly, then fine. For yours," Legato hissed. His posture showed that he was forcing himself to admit these things, for whatever reason, at a great cost. Wolfwood found himself intrigued, desperately so.

He felt his feet take him closer, cautiously. "Why?"

There was a flutter of motion. The hand that clenched around his throat when he was too close to Legato was hardly a surprise. The fact that he'd bothered to use his hand at all when his mind could do so much more, however, was. "Don't press your luck, Chapel."

The hand tightened, making him gasp. Perhaps he looked genuinely scared enough, which he was, for the attack suddenly turned into a caress. Head down, Legato didn't look as his fingers trailed over Wolfwood's neck and then up to his face. They brushed over his eyes which fluttered closed.

It was strangely natural to take the hand that swept over his features, pull it to his lips and kiss it. It was even more so to give the hand a small tug and draw Legato to him. They fit together like they'd been cast that way, in blood and bone and skin. The sirens were loud in the distance.

He licked his lips unconsciously and Legato's eyes clouded at the sight.

"And what is this, now? Is this your feeble way of thanking me for saving your lover? Using your body as a reward?" he laughed bitterly. "Are you really such a martyr?"

Wolfwood shook his head and panted back, "This is no sacrifice."

"Then you're a fool."

"I'm worse than that," Wolfwood agreed. Their lips were so close together, almost, but not quite, touching. He maneuvered his legs so that Legato was between them, pressing in. Planting his feet a little further apart, he could move, thrust a little, mimic what they did so well together.

Legato's fists slammed into the wall on either side of Wolfwood's head. "Here? With all the world preparing to storm in on us?"

"Here. You can keep them all away, can't you?"

His eyes shut off something right then; they swallowed a truth, even though his lips moved as if they hadn't. "And why should I?"

"Because you want it, too," Wolfwood said, cupping the front of Legato's loose slacks where the truth of his words was evident.

Legato didn't deny it. He didn't answer, either. Instead, he grabbed Wolfwood's face and held it steady. Then he looked into his eyes.

"You," he began, but didn't finish the thought. He lowered his lips as if he might kiss him, breathing harshly as if in torment. Then he took a step back, releasing Wolfwood. The extra step after that was taken as if he didn't trust himself otherwise. The absence of his warmth made Wolfwood shiver. The feeling of the kiss that had never been made him dizzy.

Below them, there was the sound of footsteps. After a moment, the sound reached the stairwell that led to the hallway where they stood. Scanlon and his men had entered the building. Wolfwood recognized the intense expression on Legato's face as the one he wore when he was about to unleash his deadly power. When they reached the landing, all the officers and agents would be ripped to pieces in moments.

"Don't," Wolfwood shouted quickly. He grabbed his arm and turned Legato to face him. "Don't do more damage. Let them live."

Legato glared at him and wrenched his arm free. "They'll hunt us both down."

"It's what we deserve."

The power flared around him and he roared in rage. A small scratch bloomed on Wolfwood's cheek, but he didn't back down. Legato stared into Wolfwood's eyes, his own tinged red with bloodlust and perhaps fear. Quite suddenly, Wolfwood understood. The angry bruises on Legato's neck, the blood on his clothes explained what he needed to know. Legato glared at him, seeing his understanding and hating him for it. His power surged once again and a twin scratch formed on Wolfwood's opposite cheek, but Wolfwood still refused to stand down or break eye contact. Then, as if something had defeated him, Legato turned his head away and held out his hand. "Come with me," he demanded.

"Where?"

"Anywhere. Away."

Below, the sound of dozens of footsteps moving higher sounded, resounded, and swirled up towards them.

Wolfwood blanched, and thought quickly—how long could he contain Legato's rage? How long could he distract it?

"The roof," he said.

---

The building was large, but there were enough of them to sweep it thoroughly. They'd pulled out all the stops on this one. Somebody was getting taken down. Hard.

The radio buzzed. "Kolbert here. Do you copy?"

"Copy, Kolbert. What is your position?"

"First floor corridor, north side. I think we've got a live one here. We will investigate. Over."

"Copy that, Kolbert. Take Roy and check it out."

"Roger."

Light streaked into the room from the lights attached to his rifle. Roy's lean steps took him into the room before Kolbert, who swung his light into the corners. Something had moved. When his light hit the far wall, there was just a long window curtain, fluttering in the breeze. Something wasn't right. Closer in, he signaled to Roy to cover the exit.

Something moved, fast, and he readied to fire.

It was the last thing he ever did as something got him around the neck and a loud snap went through the room. The sound never reached his ears. Nor did he hear Roy's body jerk and collapse by his head. He didn't hear the sound of zippers being unzipped or a voice that sounded remarkably like his own say, "We're clear in here. It was just a mouse. Me and Roy are heading up a level."

"Copy that. Watch your ass."

"Can do."

---

Knives walked heavily. The black of the S.W.A.T. gear hid the blood on his chest. The pain was excruciating, but not nearly as bad as the unfamiliar emotion that made his chest ache. He didn't bother to name it. He just knew something was missing. He intended to fix that.

Outside air, tainted with sea salt and the particular musk of fish and shells, slammed into his chest and made him cough.

"You okay?" a fed in plain clothes asked.

"Fine," he coughed. "Just can't breath. They sent me out to see a medic."

The man pointed. "Over there. They commandeered that little administrative building. Get in line. Somebody did a number on a couple of thugs."

Knives nodded behind his heavy mask. The world was just a little fuzzy around the edges. Only a little. He could see the ambulance parked beside what was a satellite building to the condo. He could see a swarm of EMTs fluttering about in a panic. Inside, he could see the reason why: Livio's gang, ripped to ribbons by Legato.

"Look at all this blood!" someone gasped. "Is he even breathing?"

He limped on. Everyone was too busy to worry about a S.W.A.T. guy who was obviously capable of all the necessary bodily functions. Not when so many were dead and dying at their fingertips.

He closed his eyes, sought the bright blue sky and the clear water. He opened them again slowly. Something was, indeed, missing.

No one stopped him as he turned a corner. He paused outside a door and just knew. Like finding water in a desert.

He walked in.

Vash was standing before the window of the room, framed by the night. The city across the water glittered white and gold and Vash...

To Knives, Vash glowed. He was hot and essential like blood. He was the only one who could last the years with him. He was the only one he wanted to.

Vash didn't turn. Their eyes caught in the glass reflection. "I figured you'd come for me."

Knives removed the heavy helmet and let it fall to the ground. "Your injuries?"

"You hit hard, but I'll live," Vash said. "See, I can even stand." He lifted his leg and then set it down, frowning as if he didn't like how healthy it felt so soon.

"I'm...glad."

A disbelieving puff of air escaped from Vash's lips. The window fogged. "You're really bad at this," he said. It made Knives bow his head. "You're right, of course. I don't know what to say."

Vash nodded. "I figured as much." He buried his fingers into the loose grey slacks he wore. Without his glasses, he looked rugged and strong: just a little bruised and weary. "Why don't you start with how you expect anything to go your way here when you're a criminal and I'm a federal agent?"

"Your job with the government is finished. Legato is being arrested as we speak as is E.G. and all the others. The children have been taken away. I don't mourn for them because I have you. You're strong. You're fearless. Together, imagine what we could do! The humans are nothing to us. Meaningless, petty, broken. Legato knew this. Even you can't deny how corrupt they are! You've done enough for them. Now it is time to do something for yourself. You have no reason to work with the FBI now."

"No, I guess I don't. Even still, jobless as I'm soon to be, what makes you think I'll want to join you?"

Knives took a step into the room. "Because you realized where you belong when I held you."

"Don't bet on it."

Knives took another step. He could smell the unique, layered smell of Vash, the shampoo and the sweat and the aftershave. "And because you think you can save me from myself." He rested his hand on his brother's sharp shoulder, squeezed.

They eyed each other for a minute more in the clear glass. "Yeah, maybe I think I can save you," Vash said. "But not like this."

Knives wasn't surprised by the motion. He knew Vash was going to move, and he moved with him. It ended in a standstill, neither man gaining any ground. Both of them injured as they were, the fight was hardly graceful. They retreated, moving around the sparse furniture in their way.

Knives had a standard issue gun he'd found in the Kolbert's holster. But it didn't seem to mean much to Vash who had it clattering uselessly against a wall with a smooth kick his damaged leg shouldn't have been able to do. Knives still hit harder. His blows bought him enough time to get the gun again. He fired.

But Vash was still faster.

Knives didn't see him duck and slide in. He felt the result, however, and went down when an elbow connected with the soft spot where skull met neck. Catching himself was easy once he dropped the gun, but staying up when another fist hit that same spot was tough. It was all he could do to flip around, get his legs out from underneath him and send Vash flying back. His stomach screamed at him and he could taste his own blood again. The gun was heavy in his hand once more. He fired.

His ears were good. That hadn't been a single shot.

With a childish disbelief on his face, he lowered his eyes to the slowly leaking hole in his shoulder. Then he looked up at Vash who was holding a gun steadily before his face. Knives gurgled a laugh and lifted his gun again.

The second shot, he felt. His body jerked. It hurt a little less when he let the gun slip from his grasp.

"I can't believe you..." He coughed when his breath caught. The pain was like nothing he'd ever felt before. It burned hot and cold at intervals. "You chose them over me?" Vash wondered how much work his brother had done to change the 'him' he'd been about to say to the 'them' he'd managed to.

"I can't see the world like you," Vash said quietly. He leaned over his brother, placed a dry kiss to his forehead and then sat back, watching him while he waited for the feds to respond to the gunshots.

"It hurts," Knives said. It was unclear if he meant the betrayal or the bullet wounds.

"We both know you'll live," Vash replied.

---

They took the stairs at a run, never pausing to determine the progress of their escape. They broke through the door by force alone, shouldering into it violently. Finally out in the open air and away from the sounds of pursuit, Wolfwood dropped his hands to his knees and caught his breath. Coming to his senses, he found what he could to block the door. To hold them off a little longer. Before him, near the ledge, Legato paced, hands running through his hair and flexing at his sides anxiously.

"Shit," he cursed and then kicked at a vent near his foot. As if exhausted, he suddenly stopped, bracing his foot on the low ledge and his elbow on his knee. With the bay and the city a mural of navy, square shapes and pinpoint lights beyond his shoulders, it looked like he was surveying an enemy he had no chance of defeating: Legato against the world.

Wolfwood joined him a moment later, his posture identical.

They gazed out over the city, and the deadly still water together in silence. Not home to either of them, just a city. Day would break soon with all its inescapable certainties and consequences.

Wolfwood looked down at the flashing lights surrounding the building; the squad cars and big, intimidating federal vans. Then he looked up at the helicopters circling above.

"You're not getting out of here alive. You know that, right?"

"Probably not. But I can take you with me." His voice was still so smooth, so lovely and broken. Even here at the end.

Wolfwood lit a cigarette with a twisted match he found in his jacket. He extinguished the flame with a flick of his wrist and sent the matches' cremated remains floating on the wind. He wondered it the S.W.A.T. team would find it and use it as evidence. He let out a puff of smoke that tasted damn good. "That's just two bodies instead of one."

Legato almost smiled. "And what difference does one more dead murderer make to the feds? That's what you are to them: just another monster."

Wolfwood seemed to consider this. He wondered if he was being a coward, avoiding the issue. At the moment, he didn't care. "You can't fight them. You're injured."

"I can do more than you think. Remember the mines?"

Wolfwood managed a rough laugh. It broke into a coughing fit. He really needed to quit smoking. "Yeah. I remember you out of control, almost killing us both. You're in too much pain to control yourself."

Even through the door, they could hear them, an army come for them. Wolfwood got a few long drags in just as the first thundering crash against the door shattered the air. Legato's fingers curled in on themselves into a fist, his knuckles turning white. The wind in his hair made him seem unreal, like he might float away, back to where he belonged.

"I can do it again. If you'd just..." He shook his head, words he wouldn't say flying away with the gesture. "I'll leave here. I always get away." He didn't say that Wolfwood would be with him. Perhaps that was contrary to what he truly wanted, which was the chase, the routine of their cat and mouse game. Wolfwood had to admit he was damn tired of it.

"You'll buy yourself another day. A month at the most."

"The alternative," Legato said coldly, "is laying down and dying."

The makeshift brace Wolfwood had shoved against the door shuddered as if the door behind it was alive and pulsing. He let the cigarette fall and planted his feet on the roof, turning to his silent companion.

"Well then, let's get this over with," he said with a smirk, turning the man to him with gentle hands at his pale wrists. Always taller and broader and more powerful than him. Always just a little more broken. Wolfwood tugged at the wrists until they were around his waist. "If we're gonna get taken out, I at least want to fucking enjoy it."

"For auld lang syne?" Legato said wistfully.

"Why the fuck not?" Wolfwood asked and pulled him into an embrace.

They did fit together. They interlocked like chemical components, snapping together in heat and under pressure. Legato's thigh settled so snuggly in between his legs, always managed to push too hard and not hard enough. His nails screamed down his back under his shirt and that made him scream into Legato's mouth. He didn't want this to stop. Legato's lips were soft, but not gentle and he didn't so much kiss as claim and demand with his tongue and his teeth.

Wolfwood gave as good as he got, clawing at the man's shoulders and rubbing their bodies together for more friction and more sensation.

The slam, slam, slam of the men at the door was in counterpoint to the thrust of Legato's tongue in and out of his mouth. He felt his spine crack when he was squeezed too tightly, pulled too roughly against the hardness of Legato's body. He let his hands dangle uselessly at his sides while Legato used his body, let his rage make a victim of him.

If Legato felt him shift—was aware of the subtle way he reached behind him—he didn't attempt to stop him. Nor did he stop kissing him feverishly, wantonly, even when the barrel of a gun pressed hard into his stomach.

"I'm sorry," Wolfwood whispered against his lips.

Legato's eyes went wide and his entire body shuddered against Wolfwood's. It was like a phantom escaping from his lungs, his exhale of breath as the violent, pungent smell filled the air. Oddly, Wolfwood would never recall hearing the actual sound. All he remembered was the taste, the smell, the lingering silence.

Almost as if he had recovered, his lips found Wolfwood's again and the kiss endured through the splatter of blood on the ground bellow them and even through the settling of Legato's body to rest atop the wet drops.

Wolfwood followed him down, arms around his back like cradling a child. His knees hit the pavement hard, but that didn't register, nor did the pained jerk of Legato's body at the jarring impact. Wolfwood held his eyes tightly shut and deepened the embrace, drinking his lover's death, lapping at it with his tongue. He could taste the blood now. The gun he let slip from his grasp in order to take the hand that scrambled for his.

Then their joined hands were wedged between them and pressed into their chests, inches away from a hot, flowing wound.

He pulled away slowly. Legato looked up at him with unfocused eyes. "It was always going to come to this," he wheezed. His body shook once and his eyes threatened to close. He forced them open again by what seemed pure strength of will and stared up with strange clarity at Wolfwood.

"Nothing," he mumbled.

His head lolled to the side. A few seconds passed and then blood pooled beneath it. Wolfwood softly touched the man's sharp jaw, the eyelids above his lifeless eyes. He shut them, or the Catholic in him did. The investigator knew they would open shortly again, just as his body would stiffen and his skin would turn strange, unnatural colors.

The man named Legato Bluesummers was dead and Wolfwood was all he had left behind.

Still crouching beside the cooling body, he looked up at his partner who was halted in the doorway as if his legs had turned to lead and kept him from moving. If there had been a team of men at his back, he had sent them away. Wolfwood didn't know. Didn't care.

And he didn't need to wonder how much Vash had seen. He already knew.

To Vash, the moment became like a scorch on his mind, a final testament to the differences between he and Wolfwood. He had faced his own personal demon and conquered it without killing. Wolfwood had murdered his in cold blood.

Vash stepped forward, eyes trained down. "He loved you," he said simply. It seemed to Vash that the "And you killed him" that he didn't say was very loud and heavy in the air around them.

Surprised by the strange statement, Wolfwood followed Vash's line of vision to where his hand was still clutching Legato's. He hadn't noticed.

He extracted it as carefully as he could.

"No. He only knew how to hurt. Love should never be about pain."

Vash watched as Legato's hands were placed over his chest in a poor manner of repose. "Then what should it be about, Wolfwood?" Vash asked with a hard, almost cruel tone of voice that was so unlike him that even he seemed surprised by it.

Wolfwood stood then and backed away from the bloody mess before him. "More," he said. "Just more."

He bowed his head humbly and wouldn't meet Vash's eyes.

"They'll arrest you," Vash said, glancing over his shoulder for an instant. "They have so many reasons to take you down."

"They can try, but I get the feeling I'm going to pull off an amazing escape."

"You just might."

Legato caught his eye once more, the terrible, pained expression on his face and fuck all the people who said the dead just looked like they were sleeping. And this is where they were: him more screwed up than ever, his partner, bruised and angry before him. The choice he had made.

He took a deep, painful breath. "I don't know where I'll go, but..."

And when the words puttered out—lodged somewhere between his heart and his throat—he held out a hand. It wasn't with the air of someone who expected it to be taken, or even that of someone who hoped it might be. It was an offering of an unusual kind in that neither of them believed it was more than what it was: a man with nothing left to offer asking for everything the other had to give and promising to pay the debt back one day.

"I love you," he didn't say, nor did he think to try.

Vash took his hand and everything it offered and didn't. Together they walked to the ledge and looked out over the city as it seemed to burn in the orange light of the sun struggling to rise.

"Welcome to a new day," Vash said.

The sun burst to life above the horizon and a new day did indeed begin.

The end.

---

Mostly Harmless, signing out.

August 26, 2007