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Vash is used to solitude. His life spans decades, and most of them have been spent traveling alone. It’s different now. After everything. He feels the absence of his companions—a constant dull ache. If he thinks on it too hard, it starts to sting.
He’ll get used to it. At least that’s what he believes—until Meryl and Milly find him.
Their presence emanates a warmth, a light, and he’s nothing but a moth to their flames. They fill a hole that, through ignorance, willful or otherwise, he didn’t know was there. He accepts, with some trepidation, that he is unlikely to let himself be apart from them again.
They aren’t around every day. They have their reporting jobs, and he’s still a wanted man. But if they’re gone too long, he finds himself seeking them out. He goes to places he knows they frequent, listens to the radio stations to hear if their stories’ locations are mentioned.
While reporting on a storm near Ashland one day, their broadcast suddenly cuts off. The sand had whipped into enough of a frenzy to warrant planet-wide coverage, and it was expected to become even more severe in the following days. Worried, Vash sets off to find them.
When he arrives in Ashland, what little of the town is left standing after Knives’ crusade is in shambles. Sand covers roads and buildings alike, and the people of the town are doing their best to clear it out.
Weaving his way through the streets, he helps where he can as he searches. As he turns a corner, he almost runs into a brown-haired woman with a desperate look on her face.
“Excuse me,” she says, “my cat is trapped in my house. Can you help me?”
Vash follows her for a few streets, but when they arrive at her home, there’s already a tall man standing out front. He has a worried look on his face and a tight hold on a small black cat. The creature is dwarfed by his hands, but they’re stroking it with the utmost gentleness.
When the man sees Vash, his eyes widen in shock, and he almost drops the cat. He scrambles to keep his hold, and his hat slips from his head and blows towards Vash.
“M—Mr. Vash!”
Vash picks up the hat and dusts it off for him. He walks over and reaches up to place it on the man’s head, eyes sliding away from the large cross strapped to his back.
“Thank you kindly,” Livio says, then hands the cat over to its owner. She thanks them happily, assuring them she doesn’t need any more help.
“Are you looking for Miss Meryl and Miss Milly?” he asks Vash as they walk further into the town.
Vash looks at him, startled.
“How did you—?”
Livio stares downwards self-consciously.
“I was worried. About them. Came out here to see if I could find them.”
As far as Vash knows, Livio had met them only once.
Vash smiles at him. “Let’s go find them, then.”
Luckily, it doesn’t take them too long to find the girls. They’re holed up in what is left of the town’s only inn, trying to clean up the rooms enough to give people a place to sleep.
When she sees Vash, Meryl runs over to him with an angry expression on her face.
“Did you have something to do with this?” She grabs him by the front of his coat and yanks him down to her level.
Vash laughs awkwardly. “Listen, I know what they call me, but I can’t actually affect the weather.”
She lets go but still eyes him suspiciously. Milly pats her on the back soothingly.
“Long time no see, Mr. Vash, Mr. Livio.” She smiles sweetly at them both.
Livio tips his hat to her politely, though he looks flustered at having been remembered.
“If you didn’t cause this storm, what are you both doing here?” Meryl asks.
Both Vash and Livio stand in floundering silence. Meryl flushes, then punches Vash’s arm before storming back inside. Milly grabs both of them and hugs them briefly before following Meryl, leaving Vash and Livio out with the piles of sand.
From that day on, they become each other’s traveling companions. Sometimes they’re with the girls, but more often than not, it’s just the two of them. Even when they separate, it’s never for long. They are drawn back together like magnets of opposing forces, and they don’t fight it.
They’re always on the move, too. It’s partly for practical reasons; they travel from town to town, helping where they can. A lot of it is Vash’s natural restlessness. Vash isn’t sure whether Livio shares these inclinations or if he simply follows along for reasons of his own.
But Livio never complains, and Vash doesn’t object to the company.
Inevitably for two people constantly on the move, they become frequenters of every inn, bar, and restaurant on the planet. There aren’t as many as there once were, not after the destruction Knives wrought. But of the establishments left, many have been around as long as Vash can remember, though new ones are popping up more and more as things are rebuilt.
Pushing open the swinging doors of one such place, Vash is surprised to find a decent number of patrons inside despite it not being close to any sort of mealtime.
“Vash! Livio!” calls out Patricia from behind the counter. “It’s been a while!”
A few people look up, waving to Vash and Livio as they shuffle toward their usual table. Vash is still getting used to people knowing his name, or at least knowing it and that not being a problem. Livio greets everyone by name, his easy manner winning over even those who are intimidated by his size.
Vash settles into the chair with his back to the wall. Livio sits across from him, leaning the Punisher against the back of an empty third chair in between them. Patricia flits over and sets glasses of water in front of them, patting Livio’s head affectionately.
“What can I get for my favorite boys?”
Vash takes one of her slim hands in his own and gives it a lingering kiss.
“You needn’t get us anything when we are already graced by your wonderful presence, Miss Patricia.”
He levels his most passionate gaze at her. She slaps his hands away coyly, a pretty flush coming to her cheeks.
“Oh, Vash, you’re always teasing me. Silly boy. Just tell me what you want to eat before I do something you regret.”
“Teasing you? I would never tease such a beautiful lady.”
She affects a scandalized look and turns it on Livio.
“How do you put up with this philanderer! Aren’t you worried a less respectable woman than I will take him up on it someday?”
Livio’s eyebrows are nearly at his hairline, and he looks between Vash and Patricia as though searching for an explanation in their faces. Vash, however, knows exactly what Patricia is implying—exactly what she has misunderstood—and flushes from the tips of his toes to his ears.
It’s hard to make Vash the Stampede speechless, but this tiny, unassuming proprietress has reduced him to thunderstruck silence.
“Vash?” Livio asks innocently.
Patricia stands, her hip cocked comfortably, with no idea that she’s just sent Vash’s thoughts and emotions into complete havoc.
Livio is dear to him, and much like Meryl and Milly, he can no longer imagine his life without him. He’s lost much in the decades he’s been alive, and he’ll hold on stubbornly to that which he still has. But keeping others at arm's length is the habit of a lifetime and not so easily relinquished.
There have been times when he knew that Livio was reaching out to him, hoping for something. But Vash always danced away from it—the extended hand, the expectation of reciprocity, all of it. Livio never pushes it, and Vash is glad for that. Like a bruise freshly purpled, he hurts only when touched.
He’s so lost in his head that he doesn’t even remember what he ordered until Patricia sets it down in front of him. Vash flicks his gaze toward Livio surreptitiously. His hair is tied back as it often is for meals, and a few strands still curl attractively around his jaw, and—
When he makes the mistake of meeting Livio’s eyes, he’s assailed with the full brunt of his kind smile. He shoves a huge forkful of food into his mouth to cover his reaction.
It’s becoming uncomfortably obvious that he’s been noticing Livio for some time now, but what he’s supposed to do with this realization, he has no idea.
He’s given a brief respite when the front doors swing open, and in walks a tall woman gripping a large box between her work glove-clad hands.
“Margaret!” Patricia calls out. She smooths a few strands of her hair behind one ear and straightens her apron as she walks out from behind the counter. “I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.”
“Moved a few things around since I knew you needed these as soon as possible.”
“Thank you,” Patricia says, eyes lingering on Margaret’s face.
Livio puts his fork down to go help Margaret unload her truck, ignoring Patricia’s plea to finish his food first. When they’re done, Margaret pulls a chair over to join Vash and Livio, and Patricia bustles around to serve them.
“I was hoping you guys would be around,” Margaret says, once she’s settled. “Got a message for y’all.”
“Oh?” Vash prompts her. Patricia sets a steaming cup of after-dinner coffee next to his elbow, and he nods at her gratefully.
“Melanie stopped me last time I made a delivery to December and told me that the construction is all finished.”
“That’s great,” Livio says. His palms nearly obscure the mug of black tea he’s sipping, but the tiny thing is in no danger; he never applies too much pressure. Like all things, it’s safe in his hands.
“She also said that you guys don’t have any more excuses for not stopping by now.”
Vash tries not to choke on the burning hot coffee. Livio looks at him as he coughs, concerned, but Vash waves him off.
He should have known better than to think he and Livio’s absence hadn’t been noticed. They’ve done their best to send money and supplies to Miss Melanie whenever they can, and the reasons for it go unspoken between them.
The silence lasts just a little too long, and Margaret shakes her head at both of them.
“There’s no need to be nervous. I don’t know the details, and I won’t ask, but Melanie clearly cares about you both. You should go see her.”
Vash meets Livio’s eyes from across the table, and Livio smiles gently and shrugs a shoulder. There’s a vaguely concerned look on his handsome face, but that’s perpetual.
“I don’t know,” Vash says with a nervous laugh. He scrapes at his empty plate with the tines of his fork, shoulders up to his ears with tension.
“She was pretty insistent. She also mentioned that someone named Nicholas would be waiting for you.”
Livio falls silent. If Margaret notices the strange atmosphere that descends because of her words, she doesn’t let it show.
The trek to December isn’t a long one. Vash and Livio take off not too long after breakfast. There’s something drawing them both there; Vash can sense it. Maybe it had always been calling them, but now they can no longer ignore it.
Most of the journey is spent in companionable silence. Only when they are approaching their destination does the atmosphere become heavy, a palpable tension radiating off of Livio.
“They’ll be happy to see you,” Vash assures him quietly. He looks toward the horizon where he can see a few buildings starting to appear.
“I’ll have to trust you on that, Mr. Vash.” Livio adjusts his hat lower so that it shades his eyes, hiding them from view.
Vash doesn’t push him. It’s all he can do to keep his own mind off of their destination. He does walk a little closer to him and lengthen his stride until the thud of their boots against the sand almost sync.
Once the orphanage is in sight, Vash can feel Livio start to relax. The sound of joyful yelling reaches them even across the remaining distance. Children are running in the front yard, kicking up dust as they play. One notices their approach and calls out to them, waving her hands frantically.
“Miss Melanie, Miss Melanie! Nicholas’ friends are here!”
The form of address makes Livio smile. It hits Vash like a punch in the gut, so hard he nearly stumbles.
Miss Melanie comes out quickly, but she stops in her tracks when she sees them.
“It’s about time.” Her smile takes the bite out of her words. “Why don’t you come on in and say hello to everyone?”
Livio follows her inside, but Vash holds back. Walking over that threshold is an impossible task. He’s not allowed, and he shouldn’t be welcomed.
A hand on his wrist startles him.
“Mr. Vash.” Livio’s gentle amber eyes study him from underneath the brim of his hat. “We’ve been traveling all day, why don’t you come in and sit down? Get a glass of water?”
Vash’s fingers tighten into fists at his sides, and he takes a step backwards, shaking his head. His heart rate speeds up and his breath is coming faster, the urge to flee the only thing he can focus on.
“C’mon, boys,” Miss Melanie says. “Hurry it up.”
Seeing her doesn’t feel like Vash thought it would. There’s no joy, no comfort. All he can remember is the last time they were all here, and it makes his heart squeeze so tightly that he can’t breathe.
A kid rushes past Vash to get inside, yelling, “Sorry, mister!” without looking back. Vash’s coattails flutter in his wake.
Miss Melanie and Livio are staring at him with concerned faces, and he wishes they would stop. Their care makes him sweat, palms clammy inside his leather gloves. Livio takes a step towards him, and the bitter bile clawing its way up Vash’s throat almost chokes him.
What they expect of him is impossible. He can’t sit inside and visit this place casually, not when Wolfwood never got to—will never get to. He can’t accept Miss Melanie’s care, something that should be reserved for the one she really loved.
The space between he and Livio splits open, the gaping chasm of Vash’s grief swallowing the parched ground whole. He turns on his heel, away from Livio, away from Miss Melanie, the orphanage, the memories, all of it, and runs in the opposite direction.
The long stride of his legs takes him across the empty desert quickly. Soon, the orphanage is nothing but a shape on the horizon behind him, and in front of him is a blessedly empty sky. He lets himself slow down, picking his way through the sparse desert foliage mindlessly.
When he pushes aside the dried scraps of a dead shrub, any relief he’s cultivated is wrenched away from him. There in the dirt is a section of old concrete, the remains of the foundation of a building. He wonders if his feet carried him here through some sort of subconscious will, or if it’s just that the new orphanage was built so directly across from the old one that he had no choice but to arrive there.
He follows the outline of the old building, making his way towards his inevitable destination. Miss Melanie had mentioned, once, that whatever wood and materials they could salvage had been stripped and used for the new building. He hadn’t realized it would make the old location unrecognizable.
Wolfwood’s gravestone is well-kept. Unlike the surrounding area, the scrub brush is cleared away, and the stone is free of sand. An incredible stillness surrounds it, as though even the wind won’t touch the resting place of Nicholas the Punisher.
Vash doesn’t want to be here. And, more than that, he doesn’t want to be here alone. The urge to flee has abandoned him, leaving him hollow.
If he can’t run, he can only face what’s in front of him. He’s glad that Miss Melanie and the kids take care of the upkeep. He hadn’t thought about them doing that—had purposefully kept his mind from it—but it seems a matter of course, now that he’s faced with the evidence.
The shuffling of footsteps alerts him to the presence of another person. Thick-soled boots fall heavily, even against the sand, as though the person is purposefully making themselves known. Vash wonders if Livio knows how he is feeling—he’s good at reading Vash, far better than he lets on. Sometimes Vash thinks that he and Livio might understand each other more than Wolfwood understood either of them. They’ve certainly spent more time together than Wolfwood ever got the chance to.
Livio stops next to Vash, his presence wrapping Vash with a serenity he can rarely achieve on his own. He takes his hat off and holds it in front of him in deference to the departed.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Vash. Sometimes I wish I was the one who—”
Vash is glad Livio doesn’t finish the statement. He himself has often thought something similar. If it weren’t for Livio, Wolfwood would still be here. I wish it had been him instead. Wolfwood thought it was more important to die for him than to live for me.
Livio shifts on his feet uncomfortably, exhaling deeply before speaking again.
“The last thing he said to me was, ‘Survive.’”
The grief, which Vash thought he had tightly locked in his chest, is clawing at his throat, begging for release. He clamps his mouth shut and tries to swallow it.
“Surviving is easy. Sometimes I feel like I couldn’t die if I wanted to.” Livio’s eyes have been trained on Wolfwood’s grave since he arrived, but now he looks at Vash. “I know you feel the same.”
Vash does. Has felt that way long before Livio or even Wolfwood came into his life.
“But I don’t want to die anymore, Mr. Vash. I want to stay alive and help people. Visit the kids and Miss Melanie. And. And be with you.”
Vash can’t manage to choke out a reply through his tightening throat. Nausea is setting in and his skin is going clammy. He and Livio aren’t meant to face this thing between them. There are things that are meant to remain unspoken, and this is one of them.
“Look. You don’t need to say anything, and I’m not asking you for anything more than you’ve already given me. But I like our life. Traveling together.” Livio digs through his cloak and produces two lilies from inside his cape, somehow unharmed. He gestures toward the grave with them. “The life he wanted for us. Maybe.”
Vash stagnates, the weight of his emotions a sickening paralytic. But Livio waits for him.
“Where did you even get those?” Vash finally asks.
A shocked laugh bursts out of Livio. “Miss Melanie shoved them in my hand before I left. I think they were in a vase.”
Vash laughs—it’s a little stilted and wet, but it’s genuine.
Livio sets his flower on the stone, and hands the other to Vash. He bends down and places it gently next to Livio’s. He stays crouched, running a gloved finger along the edge of the stone.
“If he were here, he’d be kicking my ass for wallowing, huh?”
Livio’s responding laugh is soft and throaty. “Probably.”
By the time they get back to the orphanage, the suns have started to set, and all the kids are inside. Glasses and tableware clatter as the children bustle around the kitchen preparing for a meal. Vash and Livio are drawn into the organized chaos and find themselves setting the table. Miss Melanie doesn’t comment on their absence, just tells them sternly that they will be joining everyone for dinner.
They wash their hands at a sink much too close to the ground for them, sit to eat, and life goes on. The hustle of the people, the joy of children and company, calms any remaining anxiety in Vash’s soul. When Miss Melanie ushers him and Livio up to a room for bed, he’s ready to sleep. The sadness is still there, but he no longer feels like a stripped wire.
He takes off his coat and hangs it over a chair. He spots a lone shoe underneath it—perhaps when Miss Melanie had vacated this room’s usual residents, one had left it behind in their hurry to clean up.
There is something small in one of his coat’s inner pockets, and he pulls it out. He’s kept it in there for a long time, and even though the cloth, it often feels like it burns against his skin. Despite its small size, it always felt heavy.
He turns to face Livio, surprised to find Livio is already looking at him. The Punisher is resting against the wall behind him, and Vash grips his tiny burden in his hand. How foolish of him to think he’s alone in carrying something too heavy.
The first time he’d picked it up, he’d almost broken it. His hands are far more destructive than Livio's; the things he cares about are not always safe just because he is holding them.
As he peers down at the thing in his hands, Livio waits patiently for him to speak. It is a small carved bird attached to a thin metal chain. It has two bright amber gemstone eyes inset into its round head.
“Let me use some of that shit,” Wolfwood said, grabbing the adhesive Vash was using for his arm.
“What is it?” Vash asked as Wolfwood carefully glued the two gemstones in place.
“Just something for one of the kids back home.” Wolfwood’s tone was dismissive, but Vash had seen how painstakingly he had carved the little bird. “Someone I haven’t seen for a long time.”
When Vash had searched Wolfwood’s body, looking for a vial to revive him—please, anything to save him, isn’t there anything?—he’d found the necklace.
He’d known, then, exactly who it was made for. And he’d been angry. Wolfwood would’ve wanted him to give it to Livio, but instead, he’d kept it on his person jealously. Vash hadn’t gotten enough time with him and had so little to remember him by. His resentment and grief burned inside him, and the bird burned inside his pocket, against his heart.
But now, he looks Livio in his deep amber eyes and feels calm. Vash opens his palms and shows Livio what he’s cradling in them.
Livio studies it for a second, and then quietly asks, “Did Nicholas make this?”
Vash nods. He doesn’t apologize for keeping it for so long, or hiding it. Livio wouldn’t hold that against him, anyway.
Livio reaches to scoop it from Vash’s hands, but Vash stops him.
“I think you should wear it.”
Livio nods and turns around, revealing the strong line of his back and shoulders. He pushes his hair up and exposes the skin on the back of his neck, the bumps of his spine.
“Whenever you’re ready,” he says, tilting his chin down slightly.
Vash’s fingers brush along his collarbones as he draws the chain around the thick column of Livio’s neck. Livio never flinches—rather, he leans slightly into Vash’s touch.
When the necklace settles around his neck, Livio turns to face Vash again, one hand going to the pendant.
“Mr. Vash, I... I don’t know how to thank you.”
Vash doesn’t say anything, but Livio’s smile is infectious. He watches as Livio tucks the pendant under his shirt safely, against his heart. They really are so similar.
Livio steps in close, his expression growing more serious.
“Tell me if this is okay,” Livio says, putting one strong hand on Vash’s waist. His other cups the back of Vash’s neck, and warm, dry lips meet Vash’s own.
Vash lets himself be kissed, freezing in place with shock.
“Sorry,” Livio says huskily when he pulls away. “I just...”
“Don’t be sorry.”
Vash’s thoughts and emotions are starting to catch up, and he’s surprised to find himself bashful. He rests his head against Livio's chest, and Livio's arms wrap around him, warm and comforting. Safe in Livio’s arms, he realizes—he has wanted this.
Maybe it’s the guilt that stopped him, the fear that putting the past behind them was to disregard the man who brought them together. But he’s been stupid. There’s nothing Wolfwood would want more than for them to be there, in the orphanage, loving each other, and the kids, and him.
He turns his cheek to lay his face fully on Livio’s chest, the outline of the necklace pressing into his skin through the cloth of Livio’s shirt.
“Livio?”
The man in question looks at him expectantly. Vash reaches his hands up and fists them into Livio’s fluffy hair, something he’s now prepared to admit to having wanted as well. He pulls Livio down, and without hesitating, he kisses him.
Livio’s arms tighten around him, and he sighs happily against Vash’s mouth. Vash lets his hands roam over Livio’s solid back and arms. When he reaches Livio’s waist, he slips them under the hem of his shirt, reveling in the feeling of his warm skin. If Livio never breaks the kiss, that will be alright with him. They have a lot of time to make up for.
Loud knocking startles them apart, and one of the kids bursts through the door.
“Mr. Vash! Mr. Livio! I forgot my shoe!!” he says, his teeth full of gaps.
Vash, red and nervous from being interrupted, meets Livio’s eyes, and bursts out laughing. He retrieves the shoe and sends the kid on his way, hoping he didn’t notice what he walked in on. They go to bed normally, as they have in hundreds of rooms in hundreds of places on hundreds of nights.
But before he drifts off, Vash leaves his own bed and slips in between the sheets of Livio’s. There isn’t room for both of them on the tiny mattress, but Vash grips Livio tight around his waist to keep from falling out. Now that he’s allowed himself to touch, he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to stop.
