Love and Reproduction.

Disclaimer: Not mine in any way, shape or form. I'm just having fun here, OK? Don't sue; I hardly own anything of value.

Note: This is the darkest Trigun fic I've ever written, and possibly one of my darkest Fanfics. Whilst not NC17, it is certainly R rated, it contains vague sex scenes, twincest, bad language, lots of angst, and so forth. You have been warned.

Also, I do consider this fic a little OOC for some of the characters, I'd certainly rather believe the events after episode twenty six would be closer to How Far is Eden, but this shows another possibility, which is just as interesting, IMO.

Love and Reproduction

Knives holds that, for Plants, sex is for two things; love and reproduction. Humans would add pleasure to the list, but Knives denies this. After all, sexual pleasure is the refuge and excuse of the rapist. Knives is not a rapist and though he certainly derives pleasure from the sexual act, it is not his motivation.

Neither is his current motivation reproduction, he knows full well, as he moves within his brother, that such a thing is impossible between them. No, his reasons are born of love; he's fucking Vash because he loves him.

What other reason could there be?

But this, of course, comes a little later.

The days before Knives had awoken had been special days, the kind of days Vash puts away in his memory to keep him going later. Days locked up within the heart, treasured and beloved.

He keeps their memory with his early days upon the SEEDS ship, or his time in Sky City. Or the manic but vivid times in May city, when it was the four of them, him, Millie, Meryl and Wolfwood. Or even his days with Lina, all those were special times, and now he will add this time to the list.

He lives in a small, quiet town, large enough to provide him with all he needs, small enough not to be important in the over all scheme of things.

He works for the sheriff, he knows he could be the sheriff if he wanted, but he is not suited to the task. A sheriff keeps order, and chaos runs in Vash's bones.

It has been over a three years since his battle with Knives, and his brother has still not awakened, he sleeps untroubled in the spare bedroom whilst life buzzes around him unhindered.

He and Meryl are together now, no further explanation is needed. To give it explanation would ruin the magic. It just works, from the passionate arguments, the joyous love making to the quiet moments of peace when the synchronisation of their hearts is all the security they need. He sees Rem in her, just as she sees something within him, something purer than he could ever hope to emulate.

But it doesn't matter. Because he can pretend for her, he can be as pure as she needs him to be.

Millie lives just down the street, sorrow lives with her, but it is behind her, in the shadows of her past and Millie rarely looks back. Nicholas is there too, there in the laugher of his children. Nichole and Christopher Wolfwood. The dark haired twins, one with his mother's eyes, one with her father's, fill that house with their spirit and love. It is not perfect, but it works.

And, finally, there is little Alex, less than six months old, snatching at the sunlight with his tiny, thick fingers. His misty blue green eyes gazing up into the sky so blue. Vash swears that he's trying to catch the suns, trying to return to the heavens which birthed them all. Sometimes Vash picks his son up and lifts him high, as high as he can, bringing him that much closer to this goal. One day, he vows, one day when he's older and grown into his metaphorical wings, Vash will show him how to touch the sky.

So it is that times are peaceful, love permeates the air, the future is brighter than the past ever was.

He awakes on the twin's third birthday.

Millie had brought them round to celebrate, dressed up in their nicest frocks and suits. They'd given Nichole a doll and Christopher a pet mouse, complete with small cage. He was a little too young to appreciate it now, but the time would come when he would learn to love it.

Millie wants them to learn the value of this lesson as early as possible.

They are sitting at the dinner table, the twins have fallen asleep shortly after their second helping of doughnuts, Vash is on his third helping, and Meryl and Millie are chatting merrily.

Then, from the back of their small house, there comes the sound of crying. Alex, to young to take any real part in the celebrations, has woken up.

Vash says he'll take care of it, in truth he is glad to leave, much as he cares and loves the two insurance women their busy gossip grates on him occasionally.

He strides towards Alex's little room, humming under his breath; he hardly expects the sight which meets his eyes once he crosses the threshold.

There is Knives, his hair grown long from his deep sleep, bending curiously over the cot. His presence is what awoke Alex, who is wailing fitfully.

Time stops, the moment crystallises, a glass barrier between one possibility and the next. Anything could happen in the next second.

Knives looks up at Vash then, his blue eyes, cold enough to chill the soul, stare out imploringly.

'Which was it?' he asks at last, his voice a hollow whisper. 'Love or reproduction?'

'Both,' replies Vash, not knowing what else to say.

'Impossible,' responds Knives, smiling serenely at his twin before his legs give way beneath him.

He falls to the floor and Vash rushes towards him, wondering what will come next, more sleeping perhaps?

But Knives is still awake, still smiling, his blue eyes not so hot with love they could scorch the suns.

There is no drama in the following days. The threats, temper tantrums, rages and recriminations Vash expected from his brother do not materialise.

Knives merely stays in bed, doing exactly as he is told. He accepts the food and aid Meryl and Millie give him, watches them constantly. He rarely speaks, doesn't seem in tune with the world around him at all.

Vash might have taken this as some sort of blessing, but it bothers him. It's as if something inside of Knives has broken, been ground even further down. Of course, something in Knives has been broken for a long time and Vash had hoped to fix him, hoped to save him. Now, however, he wonders if he has done just the opposite.

But he is peaceful, silent and accepting in his bed, hardly seeming to hear the words of peace and love Vash is speaking.

They spend many evenings like this. As soon as he's had dinner Vash will move into Knives' room and he talks to him, or rather at him. He so wants his brother to understand, to comprehend, but it seems to flow over his head like sand.

It hurts Meryl; she misses their lazy evenings together, the peace and security of their tiny household. She hates the blank stares of Knives, the way his eyes fix upon Alex whenever he's within sight, the strange, almost longing gazes he throws towards Vash. Perhaps even then she knew the truth, in some small part of her. But she has always been good at denying truth and she trusts in Vash.

Her trust is not misplaced in one way, Vash will protect them, but she never considered who would protect him.

Despite the accusations that have been levelled against him, Knives is not an impulsive person. He is a philosopher, a thinker, he has been known to act rashly, but on the whole he considers thing from a slow, deep perspective.

He's been thinking for a while now, thinking in his dreams and in his new, waking hours. The changes that have occurred have shocked him, but he thinks he understands.

Even Vash, the human loving, sentimental, foolish, short sighted Vash can't be this stupid, this idiotic. He cannot love this human. He is lying.

Thus the child is for reproduction, a strange but perhaps wise move. More of their kind is needed, after all. Still, its existence bothers Knives, makes him wonder…

Vash cannot love the human woman, it is impossible, for Knives knows that Vash's heart belongs to someone else.

He knows that Vash loves him.

QED.

He is talking of many things, of angels and flying ships, of chrysanthemums and wedding rings. (1)

Knives plucks idly at the starched white sheets of his bed, listening only to the silences between his brother's words.

'Do you love me?' he asks, suddenly, not needing the confirmation but wanting to enter the subject from a particular angle, wanting to hit the right nerve. Because if he doesn't then Vash will whine and struggle and scream, he can't hold that, it annoys him.

'Of course I do,' says Vash, breaking away from his sermon briefly.

'I love you,' states Knives, setting out the board between them, placing down the pieces. This game they've played with each other is older than chess and not half as complicated.

'I know,' says Vash, his head empty of all comprehension.

'Good,' says Knives, and kisses him.

Vash is cold under his lips, ice to his fire, and stone to his water, steadying, hard, and unmoving. His opposite, his almost equal. He stays firm under his lips and gazes at him, stunned, when he has finished the kiss.

And, in those wide, cool blue-green eyes he sees that his brother remembers the game they once played now, the times in the desert, the deal he made. The deal he will make again.

Back then it had been as obvious as breathing, they were two growing boys after all, urges entered their systems fast, leaving their heads giddy, their blood boiling, burning up from a fever which had nothing to do with the suns.

As a year and six months they were the physical equivalent of sixteen year olds and they were alone in the wilderness.

Vash, in particular, was alone. He followed his brother everywhere, for he was fire to his ice, water to his stone. He was the one who knew what to do, the only one he could turn to, the only one he could trust. He was the older twin.

Knives said so, and Knives was almost always right.

Desert nights were the cool balm to the fevered day, or they should have been. But, huddled beneath blankets other fevers haunted them, cold chilled their bones even as hormones burned their blood.

When 'it' happened, Vash hadn't been the instigator. He rarely was instigator in anything, so this was not particularly unusual. But he hadn't struggled enough to overcome Knives which, he thought later, was probably proof that somewhere, deep down, he'd wanted it.

He remembers, even now, those first feather light touches beneath blankets and stars; his brother's harsh breathing in his ear, pleasure/pain invading him. They'd been taught little about the art of sex and love, so those first few tries had been clumsy, for all the emotion behind them.

And Knives… Knives… whispering words of love and passion as he moved, trying to warm his body and cool his blood, searching for some release, some answer, some proof of their unity. Their love.

'No, Knives,' Vash had whispered desperately as it had begun, 'no… I don't want this, it's not right! Not between us!'

'But it's not about reproduction,' Knives had replied smoothly, tenderly, 'it's about love. I love you Vashu, don't you love me?'

'I… I do…'

'Then how can this be wrong? I'm right Vashu, you know I am.'

'But…'

'If you want me to stop, say you don't love me. I won't do this if you don't love me.'

'…'

So it continued, because Knives was Vash's brother and he loved him, though he didn't want this. But he must do, for he loved Knives, so this was right. To say no would mean he didn't love him, and that was wrong.

Besides, saying he didn't love Knives would make Knives angry and when that happened…

There was pain, pain worse than physical, pain so deep it cut into his soul. He knew on some level that this is wrong, but what else can he do? He loves Knives.

So the pain had continued, and Knives had moved inside him, whispering endearments and loving phrases. Telling him how they were together now, how he was his, how they were different from the humans, bonded together. This was how it was meant to be. It hurt all the way though the hollow orgasm, a sensation of relief rather than pleasure. Even now he remembered looking down upon the damp patch of sand they'd created. Wondering if anything would grow from his wasted seed, if some plant, some organism, would find that little patch of blood and sperm, create something beautiful. A geranium perhaps… though more likely a lily.

There were compensations, of course. Knives was easier after that, the tension had left his soul somewhat. He still hated humans, but he no longer argued with Vash so much, they merely spent time wandering together. Sometimes, during the day, it felt good, felt like it had been before. A grand adventure of two twins, discovering a new world, a strange, sandy barren Eden. These days weren't so bad.

But the nights were reserved for their joining. Knives had told him the pain would go with time, that it would get better, would become pleasant, even.

It did not.

The physical pain, the tearing and blood dissipated, but he rarely found any pleasure in their union. If anything, the dull, torturous, mental pain became worse, became so bad that he'd cry even after it was long, long over.

His brother took no notice of course, Vash always cried, it was just what he did.

Eventually, however, it did improve somewhat. Each night spent together became more and more distant. He became detached from his body, a spectator in some strange, twisted matinee. Watching, unseen, as Knives moved on top of his body, gasping in pleasure, whispering sweet nothings to the still form beneath him, crying his name again and again and again…

Vashu, Vashu, Vashu, Vashu, Vashu, say it enough times and the syllables become meaningless, it is a stranger's name, someone else, not him… not him…

Not even his memories either, not really, the memories of someone else, a pretend, broken figure. Someone who sacrificed his soul for love, some other poor bastard, dying a hundred deaths beneath the moon, some other sad freak beneath his brother, not him.

He's stronger than that.

Really.

He is.

It's happening again now, he's above Knives' bed, watching as Knives fucks… no… joins him.

No. Not him. Vashu. Some one else, Vashu. Not him.

He belongs to Meryl, he loves Meryl, he wants to give Meryl his children. He can't be beneath Knives, surely, for they cannot reproduce and he doesn't love him the same way he loves Meryl, because Rem is alive within Meryl. Because he can only really love one person that much.

But Vashu loves Knives, just a little, enough to sanctify this act, this strange, painful, hollow, foul act.

Besides, he knows full well that the toys Knives cannot play with he breaks, it has been written in some of the scars that cover his body, in his missing arm.

If Knives can just learn to share a little then, perhaps, he'll have time enough to change.

He hopes he'll change.

It's a horrible sacrifice, but a small one for the sake of Meryl, Alex and the others.

It's the next day, Knives is up and about, though Vash is strangely quiet and sluggish. The white haired plant makes no move to hurt either Alex or Meryl though, he is content to potter round the house, examine various objects and grimly watch the domestic life which buzzes around him.

His quiet attitude leads them all into a false sense of security.

Meryl only turned her back for five minutes, she only went out to buy some bread from the bakers, and she never thought that Vash would let anything happen whilst she was away.

She screams when she returns, wails in terror at the sight that greets her eyes. Knives is outside and in his hands is Alex. He's holding the child up high, up at arms length, just like Vash does. But he's spinning the baby around, grinning manically as he does so. Little Alex is giggling in delight, heedless of the danger he is in.

At the sound of Meryl's cries Vash comes running out, panicked. Knives stops spinning, he lowers his arms and stares at Meryl, head cocked curiously onto one side, as she runs to collect her child from him.

She doesn't say a word as she snatches Alex away, holding him close, glaring at Knives with all the venom she can muster through her fear.

'Knives!' yells Vash, 'what the hell were you doing! You could have hurt Alex! What if you'd dropped him?'

'Then he would have fallen, of course,' explains Knives, and he sneers slightly. 'Really, if you were so afraid of that, you should never have had a child with a human.'

Meryl, who's learned to trust Vash implicitly in some areas, does not understand.

It is wrong to say she doesn't notice the change, she notices it almost immediately, sees the hollowness in Vash's eyes, and hears the hidden pain in his voice. But she doesn't entirely understand where it comes from.

In her world, where everything is ordered into neat little boxes and every problem can be fixed, if one just keeps ones eyes upon the goal, she can't make out what exactly is wrong.

But something is wrong, very, very wrong.

Vash no longer spends the nights sleeping next to her, he tells her he fears for Alex, and so does she after the events of the other day. So, after spending an evening with her, he moves away to sleep in their son's room, to watch over him and keep him safe from Knives.

She cannot argue with his logic, it is risk prevention after all, but she misses him, none the less. The bed is cold without him and so is her heart.

For it is strange but she feels… she feels like he is leaving her, like he is moving further and further away, like he is dying on the inside and there is nothing she can do about it. She can't even understand what is causing the problem.

She wishes Knives had never woken up.

Not that she will tell Vash that, it is a very un-Remish thing to think, after all

And when they were younger and the world was painted in black and white and red, they'd seen two beetles in the recreation room of the SEEDS ship.

What had been unusual, however, was that one beetle was carrying the other upon its back.

'Why is that beetle giving the other beetle a piggy back ride, Rem?' Knives had inquired, watching the two insects with interest.

Rem had paused, as if considering, then she had lied though her teeth. 'Because that beetle loves the other beetle very much and wants to help him. So he's carrying him along. If you love someone, you should also carry them when they need it, just like that beetle.'

'But isn't the other bug heavy?' asked Vash.

'No, because his love lends him all the strength he needs.'

Later, of course, he head learned how it had been another lie. It was just two insects mating, nothing special. But the cunning of Rem, Knives had always thought, lay in that within the lie she planted a truth.

Sometimes, Knives thinks, he wishes their positions could be reversed. He wonders if he could be strong enough to carry Vash. He wishes Vash could be on top of him, joining him rather than the other way round. But he knows better than to test his luck.

For, despite though Vash beneath him, Vash is not the one carrying this, he does not know whether he'd be strong enough for their positions to be reversed.

Sometimes he almost asks if it's alright. He wonders if he is hurting Vash, squashing him under the weight of his love. He soon dismisses the notion though, he can't be all that heavy, he's his brother after all.(2)

Once, at dinner, Knives asked a question.

'Vash,' he began, staring at Meryl whilst she fed her child his mushy breakfast, 'why did you call him Alex?'

'It was after Rem's friend,' explains the ex Gunman, 'and beside, it used to be part of my pseudonym, it suited him I thought. Don't you like it?'

'Of course,' replies Knives, 'don't you remember? Alex is short for Alexander, a mighty warrior on Earth many years ago; he conquered vast swathes of territory, killed thousands. It's a powerful, apt name.'

Vash bites his lip and shifts in his seat, 'we're going to call our next child Rem,' he says at last. 'If it's a girl or Remy if it's a boy.'

'Are you now? Won't that be nice?' Knives murmurs, his eyes stray to Meryl and she turns away, not meeting his gaze.

It's only reproduction, after all.

For a many months it is the same.

It's strange how it all fits together, like some obscene mockery of family life. The evenings are Meryl's time and when he can Vash makes love to her. Pouring all his heart and soul into that act, cleansing himself within her.

Then, when she is asleep, he leaves her, as they had arranged. But not to look over Alex.

He goes to Knives' bed and there they join.

The sounds of coupling are muffled by the room between, Alex's room. Sometimes, just before dawn, when Vash is alone, he goes to see his son.

He picks up his child and holds him tight, wishing to any god that is listening that it could all be over, that he could clean himself of his sins, that his son could be clean. That his son will not be hurt or affected by this.

He hardly expects he will be able to show his son how to fly now, not like he once wished.

After all, as Knives constantly reminds him whilst he is being fucked, his own wings are broken beyond repair and if man were made to fly then he would have been born with feathers.

With the exception of the nights spent beneath his brother, Vash thinks that times are good. His sacrifice is justified and, whilst Vash doesn't usually believe in sacrifice, he understands that, perhaps just this once, it is necessary.

He's sure he sees a change in Knives. He will eat with he girls now, he talk to them too and whilst he's not particularly civil to most people, he is reasonable enough. He even helps with small chores around the house, occasionally. Several times he's aided in cooking dinner; he has even had the occasional game of chess with Millie.

Vash feels the bonds of trust being built between them all now; even Meryl is beginning to adjust. She is starting to insist that he doesn't need to leave her at night, now, that Knives will do nothing to Alex.

Whilst this signifies something good, it worries Vash. Now he'll need to find a new excuse of some sort.

Millie is the one that trusts Knives the most now, she's even let him baby sit for her a little, and she has had no problems so far. The twins come back happy and safe, they don't seem to consider Knives much 'fun' but they are fascinated by his aloof attitude and he seems to be able to keep control of them without being overly harsh.

Meryl is glad that she has Millie, for now the only fly in the ointment is Vash's continuing behaviour. His almost frantic love making, the growing emptiness within his eyes, all the strange signals which do not match up to the improving quality of life around him.

It frightens her, but Millie is there to help.

Then, one day, everything changes.

It is a very warm Sunday afternoon; the four of them, Vash, Meryl, Millie and Knives are sitting outside drinking iced tea and talking.

Suddenly, from within the house, there came a gunshot.

The world stops turning, there is a pause, and chaos.

With the exception of Knives, they run into the house. Vash leads the way, his long legs carrying him across the threshold at double pace. Millie is not far behind, her mind racing faster than her legs as she thinks of all the terrible things that could be happening to her children, who she'd left playing inside.

Meryl is in a similar state, her stomach it twisted and knotted with fear, she knows, she just knows, that everything is going to fall apart somehow.

They run to Alex's room first, where they had left the twins playing. The sight that greets their eyes is hardly what they could have expected. Yet, in some ways, it is much, much worse.

Alex stands in his crib, propped up by his chubby, baby arms. He's watching the scene with the same curiosity as they. Across the room is Nichole, curled up and crying her eyes out.

Then there is the body of the black cat, lying in a pool of its own blood. By it, a small mouse sits. It's white and grey markings identifying it as Brad, the pet they'd given Christopher last year.

And finally there is Christopher himself, standing firm and solemn, his tiny face crumpled with serious contemplation. In his hands he holds a smoking gun.

'Chris… what happened?' asks Millie, her voice very small and faint.

'Brad escaped,' her small son explains, 'and the mean cat ran after him and it was gonna kill him, and I got the gun so I stopped him!'

'W-Why?' muttered Vash, shaking his head desperately, 'why!'

'Because… because I had to save Brad, sometimes you have to kill something to save something else. It's the way things works. Mr Knives said so.'

'No…' the gunman's voice is a low moan.

'I'm sorry,' said Christopher, suddenly realizing the trouble he'd wrought. 'Did I do something wrong? I don't think I did. But I didn't have time and I had to make a choice and… and… and I think I did right? Didn't I?'

'Yes, Christopher,' a new voice speaks, and Meryl turns to see Knives, standing calm and tall in the door way. 'You did. I'm sure your father would be very proud of you.'

Mille and her children didn't visit Meryl and Vash much after that.

He admits it, he's jealous.

He's always been jealous of Vash in some way, he supposes, and whilst he believes he's certainly the older and better of them, he understand that Vash possesses some things he doesn't.

Two things to be exact.

He has sharper ears than Meryl, and he knows what to listen out for. Lying in bed, waiting for his brother to come for him, (in every sense of the phrase,) he hears them together.

He knows that Vash has been getting more and more desperate in his love making, more passionate, trying to clean himself, his soul, through Meryl.

He can hear the noises they make, moans, gasps, urgent cries, screams and chants of ecstasy. He even hears the sweet creak of the bed springs, he rustle of linen, the slap of flesh upon flesh.

Vash isn't like this when they're together. He doesn't scream and chant Knives name, doesn't wail or beg for more, faster, deeper, there… yes there!

He wants that, wants it so much it's like a physical pain. He's beginning to understand, at last, what he's missed out on all these years. Passion.

He's tried emulating it with Vash, tried different techniques, goading him into passion, teasing, he's even spent an evening giving Vash pleasure just to hear him scream or beg the way he does when he's with Meryl. But nothing works, he does as he is told, but that is all. He doesn't even make any sort of noise, except small gasps of exertion or a small, harsh whimper of climax. More like the sounds one makes when one has been punched in the stomach than when one is in the throws of passionate orgasm.

Knives is even wondering if it's Vash he's been fucking all this time, or some strange, hollow automaton, empty of all spirit.

He's even questioning whether or not Vash even loves him…

No, that isn't true, he must love him, even if he doesn't feel the same animalistic passion he feels for Meryl. That's all it is, surely, animalistic passion, the flush of lust forcing his twin to copulate with the human, the drive to reproduce. He can't really love her, because he loves Knives.

If he didn't love Knives then they wouldn't be fucking almost every night.

Because, if he said he didn't love him, then Knives would never join with him.

It would be wrong, you see.

Never the less, right or wrong, he wants what Meryl has, wants what Vash has and, given opportunity, he thinks he knows how to get it.

That… and other things perhaps.

It was about a month later the Nebraska family escaped once more from their prison and continued their rampage across Gunsmoke.

As he had prior experience with them and as he'd been instrumental in their last capture, it was only logical that Vash should be chosen to accompany the group sent to bring them back in.

'If you tell me to stay,' says Vash, as he holds her, 'I will.'

Meryl knows he's telling the truth, gone are the days when he leaves and she follows. She remembers the last time he left her, when he went to fight Knives. He would have stayed if she'd begged him, but that would have been wrong. He has a duty, of sorts, the same as she does. To ask him to abandon it would be hypocritical.

Besides, she has faith he'll return to her.

'You should go,' she says, 'I'll be fine.'

'You'll look after Alex?'

'Of course.'

'And Knives?'

'I can take care of him.'

He leaves the next morning, waving to them merrily as if this is just another day at work, as if nothing has changed, as if nothing will change.

As if he'll be back he next day. Though he won't, he won't be back for some time, probably.

She makes breakfast for herself, Alex and Knives. She does the laundry, washes up, plays a little with Alex, and writes some of the book she's working on. Then it is dinner time, she makes more food, noting that she'll need to go shopping tomorrow for more supplies. They eat, read, and talk a little and she puts Alex to bed. Knives even helps a little with the evening washing up, drying each plate carefully and setting them in their proper place. He's… pleasant to her.

Then its bed, she lies amongst the covers listening to the silence of the world around her. For some reason, perhaps Vash's absence, it is more silent than ever right now. She almost welcomes it.

The next day is much the same, and the next, and the next until each moment tears at her soul, each hour is a teasing mockery of what should be.

It is not that she misses Vash; it is that she doesn't miss Vash.

She hardly feels the difference. The house is a little quieter perhaps, her bed a little colder, but she doesn't regret his actual presence. His physical absence has merely served to show his absence within her soul.

She knows, then, that he has really left her, that he has been leaving her for a long time and she was just too blind to stop him.

She was doing the washing up when the epiphany hit, when she understood that Vash was no longer hers. She didn't know why, she only knew that it showed in his desperate, hollow love making. In his fake smiles, in his strange, blind devotion to her. Like an automaton, he has been acting with so much love, so much blind wretched passion, it is almost as if he's trying to clean himself, trying to prove something. Trying to prove to himself that he loves her. When, in truth, he does not. Perhaps he only loved her because she reminds him of Rem after all, perhaps she has shown that she can never be as good as that dead woman, that she isn't a saint, just a woman.

She collapses in front of the sink, sobbing.

She misses him, misses his real smiles, his gentle touches, touches so easy and careless that they speak more of love than his desperate trusting ever could. She misses his easy chatter, his casual comments, and his annoying clownishness. She even misses all those little, annoying idiosyncrasies that she'd wish he'd get rid of, like closing doors behind him, or not leaving hair in the sink.

She misses Vash, but thinks that he no longer misses her, he has left her.

Then she feels it, something warm and gentle wrapping around her, holding her tightly.

'Meryl?' asks a deep voice, 'what is wrong Meryl, why are you crying? I'm here.'

She looks up into the face of the man who is holding her and does not see the gently tanned skin, the short, white hair or the hot, blue eyes. She sees pail, creamy flesh, spiky golden locks and gentle aqua orbs.

She knows who it is, knows it is not the one she loves, but, right then, it doesn't matter.

His lips, the same shape and colour as his brother's, are moist and slightly open, words of concern upon them, no doubt. She cannot help but wonder if they feel the same.

Unlike Vash, who tastes like gun powder and sugar, Knives is the flavour of apples and salt. He does not kiss as well as Vash, his lips and tongue move with all the grace of a nervous first timer. But he soon catches on and the sensation becomes warm and familiar.

He seems almost nervous at first, unsure of what to do or how to do it. It reminds her so keenly of her first time with Vash it almost makes her sob. He soon gets the hang of it, however, and his slender hands skim across her clothing, loosening, undoing, pulling. She returns the favour, her hands finding all those perfect planes of flesh and muscle, untarnished skin not at all like his brother's.

Despite this it seems to her that, if she just closes her eyes and ignores the taste, forgets about the scars and the change of tone, it is almost Vash with her. Almost him on top of her as they fall to the kitchen floor.

It is not much, it is not right, but now, it seems, it shall be all she has.

If she cannot have Vash's love, she can at least make believe with Knives. He seems quite happy with the idea, after all.

Knives, despite all the rumours to the contrary, isn't that good with telepathy. He has telepathic power, but it's not much more developed than that of his twin. He can mentally converse with Vash and certain humans he knows well, if he concentrates. He can sometimes sense emotions, even thoughts if they are vivid enough, but he cannot entirely read minds. Nor can he force people to do things they would not normally do. He doesn't have the skill.

Legato did, Legato had a mind as hard, keen and cold as steel. Once he was given the power behind that mind, in the form of Vash's arm, he'd been able to use his telepathy most spectacularly.

But not so Knives, he never had time or ability to hone his skills all that much. But he did pick up a few tricks.

He cannot force a person to do anything (well, Vash maybe, but only then through the activation of his Angel Arm), cannot plant suggestions within their minds, but he can 'nudge,' certain things. Can encourage tendencies or notions that are already there, as he did on the SEEDS ship with Rowan and Mary. It was merely a matter or giving their already somewhat shady thoughts and tendencies a little push.

This is what he's doing now; giving Meryl that little shove she needs to send her over the edge and into his welcoming arms.

He has to say, he's rather pleased with himself. That he can do this with a spider, can filthy himself this way and put on such a good performance. It's really quite remarkable.

It's an entirely new experience, a somewhat degrading one true, but not altogether unpleasant. She is more responsive than Vash ever was, and this gives a new flavour to the encounter. Well, who knows, given time and encouragement maybe Vash could learn to be this enthusiastic as well.

Still, despite the enthusiasm and interactivity of Meryl, he cannot help but think of this act as a merely higher form of masturbation on his part. Or even bestiality; she is lower life form, after all.

The thought sends a small shiver down his spine, cooling his blood so that, when he does climax, he derives less pleasure out of it than he usually would.

Meryl comes screaming Vash's name, as was to be expected, Knives had to bite his lip to stop himself doing the same.

When the trembling subsides he picks up the small insurance woman and carries her into his room. It will be a busy night but not an all together unpleasant one. And, though the experience is not half as fulfilling as sex with Vash, despite the heightened interactivity and enthusiasm of his partner, Knives does not feel disappointed or despondent.

After all, it's not like he's having sex with her because he loves her.

Meryl knows that, if you go for long enough without water in the desert, the mind creates hallucinations to tempt you.

She knows that something similar is happening now, that she is drinking not water but sand, that she is damning herself. But, like the dying pilgrim in the desert, she believes that she is no hope of real water any more, so she might as well enjoy the sand.

Over a month passes, she continues the usual pattern of house chores, shopping, small socialisation and sex with Knives.

They fuck everywhere, and at all different times. Once they even did it in Alex's room, whilst the little toddler slept.

She hardly thinks about it any more, Knives is merely there, a thing to be used when she gets needy or lonely.

Then, at last, Vash returns.

There is no huge fanfare, she is reading the newspaper and drinking tea, Knives is busy munching on some toast. There is a knock and the door and, as always, Meryl gets up to open it and there, in front of her, grinning like a maniac, is Vash.

For a moment everything stops, the world is drawn into a pinprick around Vash's head. All she can see is his face, smiling, happy, open. Real joy too, not strained or forced. It's real, it's true and it's for her.

She was wrong. He loves her, he really does.

She breaks down.

She cried for a long time, though at she wouldn't explain why.

That night Vash holds her close as they lie in their bed, naked. They haven't made love yet, but there mere feel of her, soft, warm and pliant against him brings him more joy than she could ever understand.

His mission was successful, the Nebraska Family were harder to track than expected, after their last encounter they'd decided to lie low for a while. But Vash and those with him had found them eventually and taken them in without much trouble.

He's asked her if she's upset because Knives did anything to her and she says no, it really doesn't have anything to do with Knives.

This is something Vash is very glad of, his time away has given him time to think, time to consider and look at the world a new way. He often finds, in his quest to find love and peace, he puts on masks, acts, small deceptions to fit in better, for the safety and comfort of others. When he's alone, however, he can't hide from himself, he has to look within and consider what he finds there. He's done that quite a bit, within this last month and he's come to several conclusions, important conclusions.

'Meryl,' he says to her, 'I… I realize I've made a few mistakes recently. I can't tell you all of them, but I know I haven't been treating you as I should. I've been treating you as a shield… something to protect me.'

'I know,' mutters Meryl wretchedly, 'I thought… I thought you didn't love me any more.'

'I've always loved you,' replies Vash, tenderly. 'You are my shield, Meryl, but you're so much more too. I promise, I won't use you to hide from my problems, I'll face them on my own, I'll fix them myself, so we can be happy together.'

'But what about Rem?' asks Meryl, 'I sometimes feel… I feel you love me for what you see in her.'

Vash laughs, 'silly,' he chuckles, 'Rem was my mother, she was my shield too, but she was never my lover. I do love her, and I do love the part of her I see in you, I'm happy that she's still with me like that, but it's you I truly love. She's only an echo of my heart, you are the beat.'

And she kisses him then, though tears drip from her eyes, kisses him with all the love she can dredge up, 'Vash,' she murmurs when their lips part, 'I think… I think I might have done something bad…'

'I think I've done some bad stuff too,' says Vash sadly, 'but that's in the past. Don't worry, whatever it is we'll face up to it together. I promise things are going to get better.'

Meryl says nothing, she just holds him tight, sobbing until sleep takes her.

Slowly, so as not to wake her, Vash disentangles himself from Meryl's loose limbs. Despite whatever pain she has faced, her features are peaceful in sleep. He smiles to himself sadly, she is really far too good for him.

He cannot guess what he has done to her, he surely never meant to hurt her, never means to hurt anyone, but he somehow he always does… still, this will change. It will change tonight.

Tonight he will go to Knives room once more, though he hates to leave her, he knows he needs to do this one last time. Then, when it is done, he will see about healing, healing himself, healing her and healing his brother.

His ticket to the future may be blank but he's going to make sure it's bright, too.

After getting dressed, he creeps to his brother's room, using the stealth tactics he learned as a wanted outlaw. Knives is waiting for him, he grins widely as he enters, his blue eyes full of that strange, pure happiness that he can only express when they are alone together.

He opens his arms out, 'Vash,' he coos, 'brother, I missed you!'

Vash enters the room and enters his brother's embrace, he'll give him that much at least.

They hold each other for a few moments, Knives squeezing Vash close to him, his slender hands roaming about his brother's clothed body. Until, falling low, they begin to work themselves beneath Vash's draw stringed pants.

'No,' says Vash suddenly, drawing away, 'no Knives.'

'What?' asks his twin, shocked.

'I don't want you to do that, not any more. It's over.'

'What do you mean?' laughs Knives, reaching out to him again. 'You're talking nonsense, Vashu. Don't you love me?'

Vash grabs Knives' wrists, halting their approach. 'No,' he says firmly, 'I don't… not like that.'

Suddenly Knives face twists in anger, becoming hard and bony, his blue eyes blaze with fury, 'You don't know what you're saying, Vash,' he spits. 'Of course you love me, why else have you been with me? We're plants, Vash, love and reproduction, remember? I'm the only one on this planet who can love you.'

'No, you're not.' Vash is cool in the face of his brother's rage; for he was ice to his fire, stone to his water, and he'd expected this after all.

'What? You think that slut Meryl loves you? You think you're escapades are about love?'

'I know they are, she loves me and I love her.'

'Really? Well let me show you something…'

With these words, Knives reaches out and touches Vash's mind. Then, with all the fury and strength he can muster, he floods his sibling's head with the memories of the last month.

Meryl beneath him, on top of him, besides him. Touching, gasping, screaming, yelling, 'I love you!' in her fever of pleasure. A hundred moments of bliss, thousand images of Knives and Meryl together, a million knives of mental pain, of torment, whip across Vash's mind.

'No…' he whispers desperately, trying to deny the images Knives feeds him, 'No… it can't be true…'

'It is,' says Knives, his voice as smooth and sweet as dark chocolate. 'It really is.'

'Noooo…' Vash is crying now.

His brother reaches out and brushes away the tears, making soft, soothing noises, 'Shhh, Vashu,' he croons, 'shhh, don't be sad. Don't waste tears on that slut. You made a mistake, it happens. I'll show you the right way again, I swear. You can't blame yourself for this and you can't even blame her, she's only human. She's a spider, Vashu, she caught you in her web, but now I've cut you free. Don't you see? Sex is about love and reproduction, humans can't feel love though, not real love, not at all like the love we share. They can only reproduce, like a disease multiplying itself again and again until it destroys the body which hosts it. That's all you were to her Vashu. She only wanted you to fill her belly with your seed, just for reproduction purposes, not like me… not like us…'

'B-but,' stuttered Vash between dreadful, wracking sobs, 'why… why… why did you… you don't love her so why did…'

He understands then, because Knives will only ever have sex for love and reproduction.

He falls limp into his brother's arms, shock resounding through his system, trying desperately to deny, to ignore, to just survive.

He offers no resistance as Knives, horribly gentle as always, begins to remove his clothing.

This is it.

This is what he has wanted for so long, what he has longed for. He's tasted it before, a small sip, but he has known for a while now that it has never really been Vash beneath him. He's never really joined with Vash, because Vash has always held himself back, has always hidden inside himself. Not because he doesn't love Knives, of course not, but only because he thinks that humans are more worthy of his love. He honestly thinks, honesty believes, all those lies Rem told him.

He has thought that his joining should be reserved for humans, not his brother.

Lies.

Not any more though, now it isn't some puppet he's fucking, it's the real deal. It's Vash. At last he's with his brother, at last he can show him the truth, the lies of the humans, show him how much he loves him.

Knives has never felt so happy.

The bed is creaking beneath him, he's gasping with pleasure, an ecstasy far beyond anything he's ever felt before, muttering Vash's name again and again. In the other room he hears his brother's spawn wake up and start wailing.

He doesn't pay attention to any of those noises though, because he's with his brother at last. Because he loves Vash. Because, just underneath all the other useless ruckus, soft and frail, he can hear another sound.

His brother, who hasn't made a sound during sex since their first tries all those years ago, his moaning softly.

At last maybe, Knives think, just maybe… he's moaning with pleasure…

Whether it is the lack of the warm body besides her, the noise, or something more terrible, Meryl finds herself awake.

She can hear that Alex is crying, she frowns, Vash is not in bed with her. Could he be comforting Alex? Probably.

But… but… something is wrong. She doesn't know what, but something is wrong. Her mind is still a foggy mess, the grief and guilt from earlier still haunts her, but Meryl has always believed in duty first, in holding herself together in a crisis. Alex is crying so she must go to him.

She slips out of bed and dons her blue night shirt. Then, quiet as a mouse, she moves out of the room and down the hall.

It is then she hears the other noises, noises nearly covered by her child's bawling.

That is when the world slows, when everything starts to change.

She cannot think, cannot feel, she is just walking. Slowly moving forward, step by step, past her baby's bedroom, forward, forward towards Knives' room.

The door is open, the sounds are louder, groaning, creaking, harsh, choked gasps. She knows that what she sees next will be her doom, one way or another. It will make her want to put out her eyes with pins, it will make her want to die, to fall, to end it all. It will destroy her. But she's been blind for a long time now, perhaps they all have, and it is time she opened her eyes.

She looks.

Vash is beneath Knives, his legs akimbo, his eyes tightly shut. He's crying, tears drip down his face like water, but he isn't struggling. Every now and then a sound, a soft moan, escapes his mouth.

Above him is Knives, thrusting, gasping, muttering in his pleasure, Vash's name falling again and again from his lips, a chant of sorts. He's increasing his pace even a she watches, and she knows from her own experience that it won't be long now. It's odd, she doesn't remember Knives being quite so passionate when they had sex.

As Knives is turned away from her, as Vash has his eyes tightly closed and as both brothers are lost in their own sensations, Meryl goes unnoticed.

She watches for some time, some small part of her is screaming and crying and begging, some part of her wants to die, some part of her is already dead. But she does not listen to any of that. She is Meryl Strife, insurance woman in charge of risk prevention. She allowed this to happen, some part of her knew it was happening, but she just wouldn't admit it.

Now the disaster has happened, now the city of their life lies in ruins. Now she must act.

She has a job to do. She must prevent the disaster from happening again, must stop him wrecking and destroying more lives.

She creeps away, moving to the main living room, taking what she needs from the small desk there.

The two, small derringers are solid and comfortable in her hand, a familiar, soothing weight, they will not betray her.

She returns to the room, which has become even louder with the sounds of increased pleasure. Knives is on the edge now, reaching what he has long sought, Vash is in a similar state too. Tiny, involuntary whimpers are escaping his throat.

Her hands are shaking, though she feels perfectly calm, she hopes she can still aim well.

'Knives!' Vash yells suddenly, the cry torn from his throat as his climax overtakes him. He opens his blue-green eyes and, for just a moment, his eyes meet Meryl's.

His brother, oblivious, is soon behind him, thrusting one last time before screaming out, one high, desperate wail of joy.

'Vashu,' he gasps, just as the orgasm leaves him, 'Vashu, I love you!'

Meryl fires both of her guns.

One shot goes wide, piercing the pillows and sending white feathers flying into the air.

The other finds its mark.

Knives stiffens, then falls forward, blood slowly dripping from the small bullet wound to his head.

It is over.

She is Meryl Strife. She is a killer. She had to be.(3)

Lying there, surrounded by blood, semen, gentle floating feathers and the still body of his twin, Vash wonders if he is dead.

Or perhaps this is what it's like to be born, perhaps he's somehow fallen back into the womb of his plant mother and the girl, the short, dark haired girl, is Rem…

No, that can't be right, because Rem protected them from the guns, she saved them. She didn't stand there, stock still, two smoking guns in her delicate hands.

She wasn't Rem at all.

Memories, thoughts, emotions wash around in Vash's head, pounding against his skull like waves on a beach. It's too much, just too much, he feels numb from it, numb except for the pain.

He slowly slides out from underneath the cooling body of Knives, he wonders if he should do something about that, bury him perhaps...

He's sitting on the edge of the bed now, heedless of his nudity, wondering what will happen next.

'Vash…'

Meryl's voice whispers out, soft and delicate, a butterfly.

There's a few whirring and clicking sounds, she sound of a bed clinking slightly, a soft gasp.

Meryl trembles and shivers as she stares into the barrel of Vash's gun, the one he keeps in his artificial arm.

He points it right at her, watches her reaction, the widening of her grey eyes, the way her tiny hands tighten on the triggers of her guns uselessly. It's not as if she's got any bullets left.

He almost wished she did, though…

They stay there for a while, guns pointed at each other. Eyes locked, Meryl fears what she sees in Vash's eyes more than anything, for she sees nothing. A dark dullness, no joy, no sadness, no grief, just an aching emptiness.

Then, slowly, he lowers both his gun and his eyes until, at last, he turns one upon the other.

Now he's looking into the barrel of his own gun, looking into that familiar, dark tunnel.

He's seen a lot of gun barrels, many people seemed eager to show them to him. He'd found they all looked rather alike after a while. His own gun barrel is nothing different, nothing special, except in that it is his own and so not one he should really be looking down.

He knows, then, that the only way he'll be seeing any light at the end of this tunnel is if a bullet speeds down it.

It's not such a hard thing to do. A wrong thing, perhaps, but still…

The room is silent except for their harsh breathing and Alex's pitiful whining. With a small click, Vash takes the safety lock off his gun, Meryl's harsh breathing increases. Alex's screams go up another octave.

Slowly, Vash lowers his gun. There's a few more clicks as it transforms back into his normal, artificial arm.

Then he gets dressed.

Pants on first, then the belt. Next comes the shirt, some of the buttons have been lost, but he does up those which are still attached.

Then there's the boots, first the left, then the right, he does the laces up carefully, with double knots to ensure they don't come loose easily. Each item goes on slowly and carefully, he seems oblivious to Meryl's trembling form now.

'Vash?' she whispers again, gently.

He stands up, dressed now and looks her long in the eye.

'I don't know you,' he says, his voice calm and resonant.

Then he walks out of the room, right past her, as if she didn't even exist.

He goes to his son's bedroom and smoothly plucks him from his cot. Alex's cries stop at little, turning into soft sniffles as he takes the time to pull and tug at his fathers hair, sticking long yellow strands of it into his mouth.

Vash does not react, in the other room he can hear a muffled thump, no doubt the sound of Meryl finally collapsing, followed by the violent sound of retching.

He grabs a couple of other things from Alex's room, a teddy bear, his bottle and a blanket, then he moves to the other chambers of his home, grabbing a few more necessary items and stuffing them in a bag. He can't carry much, but he knows how to live rough. With the bag in one arm and Alex in the other, he approaches the door to their house.

Now he can hear Meryl start to cry in the other room, deep dreadful sobs on anguish. For a moment, for just a moment his hand pauses on the handle of the door.

Then he turns it and steps over the threshold, out into the darkness of the night.

He doesn't look back.

That night Millie Thompson awakes to the sound of someone knocking on her door. Pulling a night robe on, she sleepily ascends the stairs and opened the door.

There is Vash, carrying both a bag and his little boy. His face is perfectly expressionless, he's donned a pair of glasses and the reflected moonlight hides his eyes.

'Vash?' asks Millie, 'what's wrong?'

'I have to leave here,' he says, his voice as calm and emotionless as his face. 'Can I borrow your jeep? I'll leave it in the next town for you to collect tomorrow.'

The jeep is an old, broken down thing which barely works. Millie bought it cheep from her next door neighbour. Her eyes widen as she listens to her friends words, trying to understand.

Vash wouldn't leave, not so quickly and not without Meryl, not unless he had a damn good reason to. Not unless he needs to.

And he sounds dreadful, like he did just after Wolfwood had died, like he did after killing Legato, like all that's inside of him, all that vitality and energy, all that spirit has just suddenly died. He sounds so… alone.

'Something bad has happened, hasn't it Mr Vash?' she asks.

'Yes.'

'Hold on then,' she says, 'I'll get dressed, grab some stuff for me and the twins and we'll go!'

'Milly?' he sounds curious now.

'You're in trouble, Mr Vash, and you're hurt. My big, big sister said you should always help those in trouble! I can't just let you go now, can I? What sort of friend would I be then?'

'Millie…' Vash pauses, his voice a little choked, 'Millie… you're amazing.'

'Thank you!' laughs the tall woman, then gets moving, because Vash is numb now but soon he'll start feeling his emotions again and when that happens he probably won't be up to much of anything.

After about half an hour it is done, Millie is dressed and packed. She places the twins in the back of the jeep with Alex and takes front passenger seat. Vash slips behind the wheel and starts it up.

The engine rumbles and they get going, leaving the small town behind them. In the back Nichole and Christopher are silent, they sit at either side of Alex and lean away from each other. Ever since the incident with the mouse they've not been very close.

Millie wonders if Meryl will be alright… she has a feeling whatever had hurt Vash has something to do with her and Knives, but she doesn't ask. She doesn't worry about it, either, she'll learn what happened later. And besides, either Meryl's alive or she's… no, that can't be. Millie would feel it if her best friend were dead. No, Meryl's probably alive and well. She'll be fine, because Meryl is strong and dependable like that, hard a diamond, sensible, she can take care of herself just fine.

Millie nods to herself at this decision and allows the hum of the engine to relax her.

In the back Alex starts to cry again but no one makes any move to stop him.

Someone in the car has to shed some tears, after all. It might as well be him.

Alone in the house except for Knives' cooling corpse, Meryl Strife cries and curses. Did he understand what she did it for him? Didn't he understand that she had to do it, it was her duty.

Because, just as Vash healed all the people he met, Knives corrupted them, silently, slowly, inexorably. And now… now he had destroyed them. But at least they would be the last people he would devastate.

At this thought a desperate, grim smile crept across her face and, thankfully, she fainted.

Later, at dawn when she awoke on the hard wooden floor, when she ran to the toilet and vomited again, she would understand that she was wrong.

A year later and, in a small room, a tiny baby lies in her cot. Her small hands are stretched out in front of her, snatching at the rays of moonlight which streak in through the window. It's almost as if she's trying to catch it, trying to return to the sky that birthed her.

She can't make it though, she's far too tiny and her eyes, her delicate, cold blue eyes crinkle up in consternation.

Her name is Alexandria Strife.

And whether she is named this for love or reproduction none can say.

The End.

(1) Alice in Wonderland reference.

(2) I'm sorry! I couldn't help myself! Cookie if you spot the reference…

(3) This line is basically taken from the drabble which inspired this fic by MillieFan. (AKA AnonymousTrigunOtaku), only the POV has changed. Check it out!