To Be Found Again

by hypermoyashi

Summary:

Chronica is subjected to the very unpleasant experience of one Vash the Stampede in her office.

Notes:

Hello hello! No super major warnings for this one, just there is some discussion of some of my gender/sex theories regarding Plants, and some reference to some strife between humans and Plants. The tone is, overall, meant to be light, though.

Chapter 1

Written for Trigun Ladies Week

Day 5: Chronica and “Duty”

 

Chronica had been staring at this report long enough she felt she was about to go cross-eyed.

She thought the work would slow down, in the years following the Ark incident on No Man’s Land. And yet. It’d been five years since the incident, and it still felt like it hadn’t slowed down. No Man’s Land was crawling with outlaws who’d taken advantage of the planet’s dire circumstances to steal and pillage, not to mention all the unethical experimentation, corrupt politicians, and downright inconsistent to nonexistent laws and governing systems.

The whole planet had been pure chaos for 150 years, and cleaning it up almost required them scrapping everything and rebuilding it from the ground up. Of course, the people of No Man’s Land were resistant to this for some reason, so it’d forced the Earth Federation to work to repair the broken systems rather than start over completely.

Chronica understood it, to some degree. The people of No Man’s Land had lived the way they’d lived for over a century, so to have that taken and changed in a short time was undoubtedly daunting. The people likely wanted to retain what they’d built, even if it had largely been uprooted and destroyed by the Ark. Maybe because it’d been destroyed, they wanted some sense of normalcy back. 

She understood it, but she also felt it would’ve been easier to start from the ground up, though perhaps that was just her frustration with the cleanup talking. 

Looking at it logically, the resources on No Man’s Land were limited, and the time it took to get between here and Earth was costly, as well. So maybe it was prudent they were utilizing what was already available, no matter how tedious it was.

Either way, it meant the amount of paperwork for investigations on Chronica’s desk was starting to grow taller than she was. It wasn’t what she’d signed up for; she joined the military to aid with space exploration and security, because she felt she was uniquely suited for it. She was competent and hardy, and her body was more suited for space than most humans’ bodies. 

And yet most of the military personnel that had come to No Man’s Land from the Earth Federation were being used to conduct petty investigations, since the enforcement team was painfully short staffed. They would never be able to address all the concerns on their own, so any Earth Federation military personnel that weren’t sent back to Earth were commandeered to help the reconstruction efforts. 

Chronica couldn’t protest it, really, because this too was a part of her duty. She’d do as instructed, and she refused to complain about it. Out loud, anyway.

She had also thought about asking some of her coworkers to take a few of the assignments that landed on her desk, but… Someone might comment about how she needed less sleep than her human colleagues. It’d happen before, and it’d happen again, she suspected, if she asked for a lighter workload. 

So Chronica did not ask for a lighter workload. Instead, she plugged away, grabbing the next casefile off her desk to decide if it required field work or could be handled with a simple desk review.

She had a long day ahead of her.

-/-/-

“Chronica?” 

She blinked, abruptly sitting up. There was a paper still stuck to her face, which she quickly ripped away and scrubbed her face clean of the drool that stained it. Her face burned. She hadn’t been caught sleeping at her desk before. Not in a long time, anyway. 

Her coworker was barely concealing her smile, hiding it behind a raised clipboard. Chronica glared at her, and she shrank back in the doorway. 

“Um… There’s a visitor here to see you,” she said, her voice small. 

Chronica narrowed her eyes. Who would be visiting her? She’d wrapped up most of her on-going investigations recently, the cases either closed or the files passed on to prosecutors. She’d started a few cases recently, but she hadn’t started asking for interviews yet. She doubted there should’ve been anyone seeking her out about them, either.

“Send them in,” she sighed. 

She might as well see for herself who wanted to come visit her. 

Her coworker ducked out of the room, and Chronica felt a pang of loss. Not because she knew that coworker all that well, but… 

It was Domina who used to do those types of things for her. She was always too easygoing, blowing off her work in favor of helping with administrative tasks or tagging along on Chronica’s heels. She’d lost count of the number of times she had to help Domina because she got behind, pulling late nights together to catch her up. 

And yet it had been Domina who followed her duty to the grave, leaving Chronica behind. 

Chronica hadn’t bonded with another Independent before she met Domina. She wasn’t sure if she was going to bond the same way with another after her. Domina had been outgoing, never caring about Chronica’s cold exterior. Humans respected her, but they gave her a wide berth. Meanwhile, Domina hadn’t thought to maintain a respectful distance between them.

She’d been a dear friend. Chronica missed her. She wished it was Domina who’d been at the door, letting her know she had a visitor.

But that was silly. Domina had been dead for five years now, her individual personality erased and absorbed by the collective of Plants that Millions Knives had gathered. Her body still lived, still connected to a life support system, but she would never leave the facility she was housed at again. 

Chronica had only visited her a handful of times, but she found it painful that Domina was no different from any other dependent Plant now. They could no longer speak, laugh together, or complete their assignments with one another. 

She wasn’t truly dead, but she was gone in every way that mattered.

A knock on her door drew her from her thoughts.

“Come in,” she sighed, massaging her temple. 

The last thing she was expecting was the man who walked through her door.

Even with his hair pitch black, even with the fact she’d only ever seen him in person from afar or for a short period, he would be impossible not to recognize. Orange glasses, a red coat, enough belts and buckles to be plain ridiculous—it was Vash the Stampede.

She recognized him from the number of wanted posters, from the fact she’d been helping in the manhunt for him for three years. 

“You,” she snarled, narrowing her eyes.

The only reason she wasn’t arresting him was because he’d been pardoned of all crimes two years ago, and he’d been living quietly ever since.

“Me!” he agreed brightly, giving her a little wave.

Chronica resisted the urge to massage her temple, but she could feel her eyebrow twitch. “What are you doing here?” 

“Visiting!” he replied, striding into her office and taking the seat in front of her desk like he’d been invited in. Which, Chronica wanted on the record, he had not been invited in. “Hi, hello, howdy! I don’t think we’ve ever properly met. I’m Vash, nice to finally get to talk with you.” 

“And I’m Chronica,” she replied, skepticism dripping in her tone. “I can’t say the pleasure’s mutual, really. I don’t host outlaws very often.” 

Vash laughed, and there was something a little awkward and forced to it. Good. He shouldn’t be making himself comfortable when he was barging into her office. “ Former outlaw! I promise, I’m on the straight and narrow now—except, well, I’m not really straight, but that’s besides the point.” 

Chronica was definitely going to get a headache out of this.

“Stampede,” she said, refusing to refer to him casually, “what are you doing in my office.” 

It was less a question and more of a demand. 

Vash seemed to sober at her tone, his back straightening and his smile dimming. “Um, well… You’re an Independent, aren’t you?” 

“And?” She crossed her arms, still not understanding why he was here.

“Oh, well… See, the thing is, I’ve never really… The only other Independent I’ve known was my brother,” Vash replied, shifting in his seat. “So, I don’t know… We’re like siblings, aren’t we? Thought it’d be good to get to know one another! Since, y’know…” 

Chronica glared at him. 

She was aware of Millions Knives’s probable death. It had never been confirmed, other than through testimony from Vash the Stampede himself. Independents left no bodies behind, after all, depending on how they died. The same was true of Dependents. 

But the testimony was likely true, given they’d seen hide nor hair of Millions Knives, and given the Earth Federation’s knowledge of Fused Entities. In every prior case of a Fused Entity, when the Dependents unfused from their Independent host, it led to the rapid deterioration of the host. Dependents could fuse and unfuse with relatively little harm to them, but Independents suffered from a loss of the cognitive barriers that allowed them to function independently. Not to mention the strain it put on the host’s gate and body, most of which would be irreversible. 

Domina was proof enough of that. She’d been pulled into the fusion against her will, and her personality and memories, the things that made her who she was, had been destroyed for it. 

And maybe that was why he was here. He’d lost his brother, and maybe he knew she’d lost Domina. Maybe he was trying to find a replacement for them both. 

Except Chronica wasn’t looking to replace Domina. She especially wasn’t looking to replace Domina with Vash the Stampede.

Doing so would be nothing more than an insult to her memory. 

Chronica leaned forward in her seat, folding her hands in her lap. “First off, let me educate you in matters related to Plants, since I’m assuming your understanding is flawed based on your earlier comment. The assumption that we are siblings just because we’re both Independents is incorrect. It’s true that the hivemind is sometimes referred to as a big ‘family’ by some Independent individuals, with Dependents being referred to as ‘sisters’ or other similar terminology, but the relationship isn’t truly translatable into human conceptions. All Plants don’t share a singular bloodline—that’d be ridiculous for an entire species. The only Plants truly related to one another in the human notion of the word are direct parents, and any offspring from either a singular parent or multiple would truly be biological siblings. They’re rare, though, as most Plants don’t give birth twice, and occurrences of sexual reproduction with two parents are even rarer.” 

She paused, and Vash was staring at her, eyebrow raised. He didn’t open his mouth to interrupt her though, so she continued. 

“Now, there are some Independents who chose to see one another as siblings or family in the platonic sense, but that is exactly what that is. A choice. Something earned through a shared bond, not something demanded through a happenstance of birth,” Chronica said, hoping her tone was clipped enough for him to get her point. 

He couldn’t waltz in here and demand Domina’s place, just because he thought he might qualify as her brother due to them both being Independents. It simply didn’t work like that. Domina had earned her place, by always sitting next to Chronica when they were at the academy, always talking and joking and preservering to be her friend, despite the fact that no one else would. Everyone else found her intimidating, but Domina hadn’t. 

Vash had done nothing of those things. He’d simply marched into her office, and that would earn him nothing. 

He just laughed and rubbed the back of his head. “Oh, wow, jeez, you do know a lot. I guess you’re right that Plants aren’t really related in the human sense of the word, but wouldn’t you say picking your own family is pretty human, too?”

“I suppose it is,” she conceded, “but it’s just as much of a Plant thing, isn’t it?” 

“Touche!” 

Chronica shifted so she could drum her fingers on her desk. There almost wasn’t any clear space for it, given the amount of paperwork and casefiles waiting for her review that crammed her desk. “So? I’ve told you I don’t accept you as my brother—you can leave, then.” 

“Hm. If not a brother, then maybe a friend?” he offered.

“Rejected,” she replied back flatly. “I have no need for friends with criminal records.”

“Hey! I was pardoned! I’m technically not a criminal anymore!”

“Tough luck. I still have the right to judge you, and I still judge you unacceptable friend material,” she shot back at him. 

Vash huffed and crossed his arms. “Geez, fine, be that way. I didn’t think you were friend material, either, for the record.” 

“Fine,” she snorted. “Your opinion of me hardly matters.”

“And your opinion of me doesn’t matter to me, either.” 

“Fine.” 

“Good.” 

 Chronica raised an eyebrow at him. “You can leave now.”

“Fine, I was just seeing myself out,” he replied, like a liar, pulling himself to his feet and stomping to the door like a child. “Have fun with the paperwork.” 

“I will,” she replied, just as much a liar as he was.

He gave her one last huff before waltzing out the door, letting the office door fall shut loudly behind him. She watched through the window as he left the hallway entirely, heading for the building’s exit.

Chronica slumped into the chair and glared at the paperwork. As if her mood hadn’t been bad before, now not only did she have an annoying encounter with an unwelcome guest on her mind, she also still had a mountain of paperwork to work through.

At the very least, hopefully that was the last headache Vash the Stampede would be giving her. He wasn’t her problem any more.

She didn’t realize how mistaken she was, at the time.

-/-/-

“What do you mean the ice cream shop exploded.”

Chronica felt her eye twitch. 

“I mean it exploded!” the shop owner exclaimed, making wide and unnecessary gestures with his arms. “Some guys with guns showed up, started yelling, and then they started shooting! And it was all like, bam bang boom, and everything exploded!”

“So you mean your shop was the target of gun violence, then,” Chronica summarized flatly. 

“I mean, yeah, but it felt like an explosion, and we’re not talking about a few bullet holes here, lady.” 

Chronica felt a vein pop on her forehead. She breathed in, recognizing the shop owner was likely still in a state of shock or an adrenaline high from all the excitement. And, sure enough, when she glanced at the shop, it did look a bit like someone had set off a bomb within the establishment.

The windows were all broken, shards of glass littering the shop inside and the sidewalk, which had been cordoned off due to the hazardous debris and for the purposes of crime scene investigation. The walls were severely damaged, with large bullet holes blasted into the clay structure and cracking what walls weren’t full of holes now. They were large and numerous enough to suggest several automatic weapons, most of which had been banned with the new regulations on firearms that the Earth Federation had imposed (not that many of the citizens of No Man’s Land actually listened to the new regulations).

“And how is he involved?” she asked, turning a glare towards none other than Vash the Stampede, who was sheepishly sitting to one side with his wrists in cuffs. He gave a little two-handed wave at her, which she promptly ignored.

“They were after him!” the shop owner said. “He’s a famous outlaw, you know? Vash the Stampede! He’s got a bounty of his head, and he single handedly slaughtered the entire population of July back in the day! There are rumors he eats children, too. Of course I called the cops on him!”

Chronica took another breath and resisted the urge to massage her temples. “So you are telling me. He is not responsible for this mess but a bystander or potential victim. And yet you reported differently when you called emergency services?” 

“Well, the other outlaws left, and he was a part of the fight! He’s an outlaw, too—it was probably gang violence!”

…This shop owner certainly had an overactive imagination. 

“I’ve never been in a gang,” Vash said, his tone so despondent he almost seemed like he was sulking. 

“I can admit Vash the Stampede’s infamy,” Chronica said, ignoring him, “but are you aware he was pardoned of all crimes two years ago? And, as far as I’m aware, he has not committed any since. Did he hurt anyone during this confrontation?”

“Well, no, he actually pulled someone out of the line of fire, but they wouldn’t have been in the line of fire in the first place if he hadn’t—” 

She snapped her pad shut. “Thank you for your testimony. My department will be in contact with you further if we need any additional statements. The report should be filed within the next week for your insurance claim, and I will be opening a case on those responsible for destruction of property, disturbing the peace, reckless endangerment, and possession of illegal firearms. Thank you for your time.” 

The shop owner’s mouth hung, but he didn’t say anything else as Chronica unlocked the cuffs on Vash’s wrists and started marching off. The case would be below her paygrade, but if there was no one available to hand the case off to, she’d likely be stuck with it herself. There were too many incidents like this, so they often fell through the cracks due to the sheer scale of the issue and inadequate personnel to handle it all. Either way, she needed to file that report so the shop owner could start rebuilding his shop and get his life back in order.

These were the thoughts that were running through her mind, interrupting when someone practically sprinted to catch up with her, shouting, “Hey! Chronica!”

She drew in another breath, then another. She didn’t have the damn time for this.

“What.” Chronica didn’t slow down, but it didn’t matter. He was taller than her, so he didn’t have a problem keeping pace with her with his lanky legs. 

“Oh, I wanted to thank you!” he said. “Normally, it’s a massive pain when I get caught up in those things, and Meryl and Milly are on a business trip, so they can’t bail me out like they normally would… I thought for sure I’d be stuck spending a few nights in jail waiting on bail.” 

She just shook her head. “You have nothing to thank me for. Due process and enforcement of the law means that the innocent should not be held or assumed guilty until proven so. The shop owner admitted you did nothing but respond to violence you saw in front of you.” 

“I… Well, I guess, but…” 

“Why do you seem displeased.” She really didn’t understand this man. He was obviously happy that she’d helped him out, but the moment Chronica started talking about how it was just the right thing to do, his tone completely shifted.

Vash rubbed the back of his head. “Well… It’s true that I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of. Things that hurt people. I don’t blame them for being scared, and I don’t blame the shop owner for wishing I wasn’t there. Those guys picked a fight with me, after all. If I hadn’t been there…” 

“Don’t act like you’re special,” Chronica scoffed. “I’ve had to do plenty I’m not proud of, and I’ve earned plenty of ire for it. There’s a subset of Independents back home who view me as a traitor, for wanting to work with humans within their systems and improve them for people like us. Although I can understand why they think that, their opinions of me are irrelevant. I will do the best that I can with the tools at my disposal, and if I find myself lacking, then that is a regret I will accept, learn from, and move forward with. That’s all there is to it.” 

She paused, realizing she’d kind of gone off on him. Not that she didn’t think it wasn’t warranted, she just… Didn’t typically bother explaining herself to people she didn’t think were worth her time. She narrowed her eyes at him, at the way he was watching her with a soft expression.

An expression of approval.

She didn’t want his approval. She didn’t need it. His opinion of her was just as irrelevant as those who viewed her as uptight, a traitor, or a try-hard. 

“I think that’s a good way to think about it,” Vash said. “Though… I don’t know, you’re probably stronger than I am. To deal with all that regret so well.” 

The words were. 

Well… They were almost vulnerable. 

Chronica wasn’t heartless. She felt her expression soften, just a little bit. She sighed and remarked, “I’ve just been lucky. My efforts have been largely praised, but even if they hadn’t been, I would still want to continue them.” 

“Maybe! But I think you’ve probably dealt with your own share of criticism, too.” 

“Fair enough,” she sighed, since that wasn’t exactly untrue.

“Can I drop by your office again sometime?” he asked, perking up. 

He wilted a moment under her withering glare, before she scaled back her initial reaction. “We’re not siblings, and you’re never going to replace Domina.” 

If she was going to consider allowing this, then he better get her expectations right. 

He raised his hands and laughed. “Got it—not siblings, and I wouldn’t dream of replacing her.”

“You still have to go through the regular guest visiting process, you must give me 24 hours notice at minimum, and you are not to visit more than once a month unless I give express permission otherwise,” Chronica continued. “Other standard, common sense rules apply, such as no flirting with my coworkers, no gossip, and no committing illegal acts.” 

“Cross my heart, hope to die,” Vash replied lightly. “I won’t disappoint you, ma’am.” 

“And don’t call me ‘ma’am,’” she groaned. “It sounds sarcastic when you do it.” 

He just laughed. “Noted, noted!”

“Well? Are you going to give me your number?” she asked. There was no way he’d be able to contact her with advanced warning, otherwise.

“Oh, um. I don’t really own one,” he admitted. “I’ll borrow a friend’s, don’t worry!”

Chronica resisted the urge to grit her teeth. She knew that cellphones were still new to many of the people of No Man’s Land, but it’d been five years. Most people, especially those who lived near the cities where the service was present, owned one by now.

“Then you need my number,” she said blandly. She ripped off a page from her notepad, scrawling her personal number on it before shoving it in his direction. “You are not to use that number except for emergencies and to give advance warning for any visits, and need I remind you, visits are not to exceed once a month.” 

“Got it, got it!” He tucked the paper into the pocket of his jacket, offering her a smile and wave. “See you around, Chronica.” 

“Goodbye.” 

With that, she was finally able to part ways with him. She wasn’t exactly looking forward to these ‘visits’ of his, as she didn’t know what his purpose or angle was, but she supposed they wouldn’t be the worst, provided he followed her guidelines. And if he didn’t follow them, then the visits would no longer be allowed. So, either way, she should at least be sparing herself some headaches.

-/-/-

And visit, Vash did. He visited her almost every month, calling at least twenty-four in advance, just as requested. He always called from different numbers, which perplexed her, but she didn’t question it so long as he was following her guidelines.

During his visits, Chronica learned a few things about Vash. 

The first thing she learned was that he didn’t like talking about himself. Even safe topics, ones Chronica would assume was merely small talk, he’d avoid. Subjects relating to parents, family, loved ones—he avoided those, unless he was talking about two women named Meryl and Milly, or two men named Livio and Razlo. People called Luida, Brad, and Jessica also occasionally made it into the list of people he’d discuss, but no others.

Chronica had very little on the subject herself, though she still shared it. Her adoptive parents had been two human women who’d really been looking to adopt a human child, but had checked off they were willing to accept an Independent anyway. They’d perhaps bit off more than they could chew, but Chronica didn’t fault them for it; they had tried their best, and they’d loved her. She didn’t visit their graves anymore, both having died peacefully of old age long ago. She had no siblings. She’d made very few friends, most of which she didn’t speak with often due to the demands of her job. She wasn’t terribly friendly with coworkers. 

Domina was about the only one she could think to bring up on these occasions, and there was no new information she had to discuss about her. She was as good as dead, after all. 

The second thing she learned was that Vash was as friendly and kind a person as he was sad and tired. He hid it well, with his demeanor. Chronica herself was fooled for a long time, but she wasn’t unobservant. She could see the bags under his eyes, the blackness to his hair, and the thinness of his smile. She knew he was only a hundred and fifty years old, only a few decades older than she was, and yet… It was though he’d lived centuries longer than her, the decades wearing on him far more than they wore on her. 

Really, a hundred and fifty was young for an Independent to have completely black hair. It wasn’t the first time Chronica had met a Plant whose hair had started to darken, but it was her first time interacting with someone so far gone. 

Chronica had read the reports on him. She wasn’t unaware of his condition. That was part of the reason Vash the Stampede had been pardoned in the first place. Along with dozens of character witnesses who submitted testimony and requests for it, the Earth Federation had deemed him low-risk after he’d consented to an examination. The Plant specialist had determined he had very little in terms of power left, and had written him off as soon to die.

And here Vash was, still alive two years later, somehow.

Chronica could admit she was curious how he was doing it, because she also suspected it’d be rude to ask. She decided not to ask. 

She’d come to terms with her own mortality, much as that mortality might look different from a human’s. Chronica wasn’t scared of dying of wounds in battle, or of burning her golden hair black. If it came to that, it would come to that, and she would prefer not to be pitied when that time came. She would offer Vash the same dignity. 

The final thing that Chronica learned of Vash was that he was a liar. 

“How did you defeat Brilliant Dynamites Neon, again?” Chronica asked, raising an eyebrow at him. 

Vash grinned, overdramatic as hell, as he framed his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Well, you see! He’d hijacked the sand steamer we were on, and I challenged him to a duel—mano a mano. Except, well, we used guns, but I won, and he left the ship! And then we managed to stop it from driving over a cliff. One of our sisters—er, one of my sisters, one of the Dependent Plants—got a little spooked, so I had to calm her down, too. There was also this cute little kid who helped us out! His father built the sand steamer, and he’d been helping Neon, but he switched sides to help us instead. He’s a good kid like that.” 

“Likely story,” she commented flatly. “There’s no way your life has been that chaotic, so I don’t believe you.” 

Vash wilted at that. “But that one’s true… Okay, maybe I’ve exaggerated a few of the stories, but they’re all true! To some extent, anyway.” 

“I doubt it,” Chronica snorted. “How did you even calm a Dependent Plant down? It’s not like we can speak with them.” 

Vash blinked at her, then raised an eyebrow. “We can, though. You didn’t know that?” 

“You’re lying,” Chronica replied flatly. “It’s a known fact that we might be able to pick up on Dependent Plants’ distress signals, but I haven’t heard of us being able to actually communicate with them. At least, not in the human sense of the word.” 

“Oh, well, it’s definitely different from speaking with humans,” Vash said. “We can technically do either one, but… I guess if you’ve mostly been around humans, it’s easy to miss how to talk with Plants. They don’t demand attention and communication the way humans do, really.”

Chronica crossed her arms, leaning back in her desk chair. She was skeptical, but intrigued. 

“Let’s see…” He drummed his fingers on the desk, thinking. “It’s sort of like bypassing words altogether and sharing feelings and memories directly. It’s definitely different, and a little hard to parse sometimes when you’re used to language itself… But it’s also far more direct. A lot harder to be misunderstood when someone can feel your intentions directly.” 

“And they… respond back?” she asked.

“They do!” Vash assured. “In their own way, anyway. I could show you…?” 

Chronica pursed her lips. It was… interesting, to say the least, to learn that the Dependents were capable of communication. She’d never even thought about speaking with them before. She knew she was, in a way, like them, that she’d come from one of them, but at the same time, she felt far removed from them. She didn’t look like them, act like them, or function like they did. It was easy to forget that, at their core, they were the same species.

And maybe it was a bit uncomfortable, to be reminded of that, given Chronica’s efforts to appeal to and function within human society. 

“Perhaps another time,” she said. 

Vash smiled sadly and dropped the subject.

-/-/-

“Have you ever thought about how many Independents end up within the gender binary before?” Chronica asked, frowning at paperwork she hadn’t been able to focus on for the past fifteen minutes, not since Vash arrived. He’d been complaining about his new doctor not wanting to prescribe testosterone, despite the fact that Vash had been taking it on and off for over a century now, which was what got her thinking on the subject.

It wasn’t the first time they’d spoken about various topics like that. It was something she used to try to engage Domina with, but the woman had been so easygoing that the topics never lasted. With Vash… Well, he had strong opinions on most subjects, even if he often stayed cordial about how he approached them. Chronica found it interesting to speak with him, and she found some of his perspectives enlightening.

He also knew more about the people of No Man’s Land, after all, having lived among them for a hundred and fifty years.

Vash rested a hand on his chin. “I mean, I guess so? We’re all technically born with the same biological sex, but I thought it was weird we just assigned female at birth anyway. Me and my brother, anyway.” 

“Arbitrary human standards.” She shrugged. “Almost all Independents are assigned female at birth, though all Independents are fully capable of both siring and bearing children in the right circumstances, if they so choose. Any traits typically associated with people assigned male at birth tend to present later on in an Independent’s life if they manifest, so assigned female at birth tends to be the default for Independent children. Plenty choose to continue to function as women in society, but there are those who decide to function as men or both or neither, too. I just think it’s interesting that we are all assigned the same default they apply to humans when it’s not as applicable to us.” 

“It’s not even really that applicable to humans, either.” Vash drummed his fingers on the armrail of the chair. “Humans can be born with a lot of variations in biology, including different hormones. Plenty of humans are born intersex, and doctors kind of just pick whichever they’re closest to. But there are plenty of trans and non-binary humans, too.” 

“There are,” Chronica agreed. “It just isn’t the human default—it’s a minority of the babies born to humans, whereas an Independent is always going to differ from standard human norms on the subject.”

Vash just hummed. “That’s true… I guess I’ve never asked, but while we’re on the subject, do you actually identify as a woman?” 

“I don’t particularly care,” Chronica replied, her answer an honest one. Gender was never something that was high on her list of her concerns, and she didn’t really have any strong feelings on the subject regarding her own identity. If she was designated female at birth, she felt no need to contest that. “I’ve never had a problem with being a woman, but I don’t think I’d care if I was a man, either. Both have their pros and cons. Feminine pronouns are fine. They’re what I’ve always used.” 

“I envy that, in a way,” Vash said, with a grin. “It’s nice, to not have to worry about it, but if you think about it and end up feeling differently about it, just let me know.” 

Chronica just nodded, recognizing this was a subject he was probably more familiar with than her. “It is nice to not have to worry about it, but there is something to be said about it being admirable to be faithful to who you are rather than simply accepting who others tell you you are.” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment, then,” he laughed. 

They moved on to a different subject, though Chronica continued to mull over the topic as they spoke about more inane things. Really, her expertise wasn’t gender studies or social issues, but she agreed it was odd that human standards were applied to Independents when biologically, humans and Independents still had stark differences in the ways they developed and presented. Honestly, Vash was right that the human standards were almost inapplicable to humans, as well. 

She wondered if the humans would listen if she brought this up. They often ignored the needs of Plants if they differed from the needs of humans, so… It would be a longshot. 

But it would benefit a lot of people, if it changed. 

“Do you like being a man?” she wondered, then blinked. That was a rude question, wasn’t it? “You don’t have to respond, if that was presumptuous of me to ask.” 

“Nah, it’s fine.” He gave her an easygoing smile, and in that moment only, she felt her chest ache. He didn’t often remind her of Domina, but sometimes… “I do like being a man! It makes me feel… Well, it made me like my body, a little bit more than I did, anyway.” 

She nodded. “Good to hear.” 

She’d met Independents who were men and Independents who were non-binary. Unfortunately, she’d just never had the chance to discuss the subject in detail with them, and Domina had been like her, except she liked being a woman and felt strongly that she was one. Chronica couldn’t relate to her, in that regard, but she was happy for her, just as she was happy for Vash liking the fact he was a man. 

It would benefit a lot of people, wouldn’t it? More freedom to be themselves? 

It was something for Chronica to keep in mind. 

-/-/-

“Y’know, I heard about this petition going through,” Vash commented.

Chronica hummed. “You’ll have to be more specific.” 

“About assigning all Independents female at birth,” Vash elaborated. “About putting them in a gender-neutral assignment instead, until they’re old enough to know who they are. Y’know, the thing we talked about, and then suddenly there was a petition about it?” 

Ah, that. Maybe Chronica had a few connections in the government, thanks to her service. Maybe she used some of the goodwill she had engendered with humanity to float the idea to one of them. After all, what good was the power and influence she’d amassed through her service if she didn’t use it for its intended purposes of making the lives of her fellow Independents, and humans while she was at it, better? 

It was an issue most humans didn’t care about, too, since it didn’t inconvenience them. It was an easy ask, in her opinion. At least, that was the case for Independents—she hoped it would open the door for humans, too, someday. 

“I had nothing to do with that,” she lied. The purpose of that hadn’t been to earn praise for herself, after all. “It’s pure coincidence, and besides, a petition is no guarantee that any legislation will be passed. It just shows support for an issue, so potential legislation can start to be considered and drafted.” 

Vash just gave her a small, knowing smile, which irked her. “Still, it’s something. Thank you.” 

“You have nothing to thank me for,” she huffed. “...Did you sign it?” 

“I did! Great thing about not being a criminal anymore, and I can do stuff like that—and I’ve got my first election coming up, too! I’ve never voted before, actually.” 

Well, it wasn’t really surprising that he hadn’t been able to vote before. No Man’s Land was organized around local governments before, with no central government to speak of. And not all of them were democratic, where the officials running the governments were elected by the people. If Vash lived a nomadic lifestyle, then he likely wasn’t eligible in any of the elections No Man’s Land held before the Earth Federation, on account of him not being a permanent resident anywhere on top of him being an outlaw.

“Good luck,” she said, earnestly. 

He grinned at her. “Did you sign the petition, too?” 

“That’s none of your business.” 

She did, and Vash gave her another one of those annoying, knowing smiles of his. 

-/-/-

“How do you control it?” 

Chronica blinked, turning an eye at Vash. He was sitting in her loveseat, across from her sofa. It’d been about a year since she’d started allowing him to visit her in her home, since it was inconvenient to limit the visits to her office. The visits weren’t restricted to once a month anymore, either, even though they often ended up meeting sporadically. It all depended on Vash’s hectic schedule, and apparently his two friends had a new baby he was helping with. 

She sipped her tea, the cup warming her hands. He hadn’t touched his yet. “What do you mean?” 

“The whole…” He gestured vaguely to himself. “I know I don’t really have that much power left, but… I’m worried. I’m still stronger than the average human, and… I still sprout feathers, sometimes.”

“You’re, what, a hundred and sixty by now?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “You haven’t figured this out yet?” 

He flopped over the chair dramatically, a childish display that was obviously meant to divert from genuine vulnerability, now that she knew him. “Pleeeeeeaaaase. I can kind of control it, and it’s not like there’s much to go out of control, but…” 

“Why now?” 

He’d been visiting her for four years now, and this was the first time he’d asked about it. 

“The baby,” he replied, sobering. “They’re… They’re so tiny. And Meryl and Milly worked so hard to have them, I just… I want to help, and to be a good uncle, but… I’m worried. I haven’t been helping much, and they’re both just really, really tired. I feel bad.” 

Chronica sighed. It was just like Vash to worry over nothing, but she could at least assuage his fears on this. Control over her powers was something she’d learned long ago. 

“Hold onto that feeling,” she said. “That feeling of wanting to protect that baby. Your gate will respond in kind—it won’t hurt a being you see as family. That goes against the purpose of the gates.” 

“It has, though.” Vash straightened, his gaze darkening. “Hurting people I wanted to protect… It’s done that.” 

“Because of Knives?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at him. Chronica had picked up bits and pieces, here and there. Some of it from Vash himself, and some of it from reports she’d read on the matter. 

He flinched then, his flesh arm going to hold the one she knew was a prosthetic. Vash didn’t respond to her. Chronica wasn’t surprised, but she also wasn’t one to walk on eggshells. 

She sighed. “You know I’m chipped, right?” 

“...Yeah.” He focused back on her, finally, back from whatever living nightmare he’d been reliving, which was good. 

“You’re exempt from it, on account of already being an Independent with an almost fully degraded gate,” she explained, “but it prevents Independents from hijacking one another, from invading each other’s minds and using each other’s bodies and gates for their own purposes against each other’s wills. It also keeps us from consuming one another.” 

There were other uses, of course, such as limiting the extent to which they could use their powers without human permission, but those were beside her point. She appreciated the benefits the chip afforded her just as much as she chafed against the control it exerted over her. 

“You didn’t have such protection,” she concluded. “I can understand the pain and fear that would come from that, but if you fear your power, you’re more likely to lose your handle on it. It’s like riding a bike—the more you fear veering off the edge of the road and stare at the edge instead of looking ahead, the more likely you are to drive yourself off the road anyway. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy.” 

“So the solution to not needing to worry about it is to just not worry about it,” Vash surmised, with a raised eyebrow.

Chronica just shrugged. “If that sounds infeasible, that sounds like a skill issue to me.” 

“Right,” Vash snorted, taking the joke for what it was. Many people didn’t appreciate her dry sense of humor, but he seemed to have taken to it. 

“Have you considered therapy?” she asked, on a more serious note. “My advice will only go so far, whether I’m a fellow Independent or not. Sometimes, these things are better addressed by a professional.”

“Why is that everyone’s advice?” Vash moaned, slumping into her love seat.

Chronica had to bite back laughter at him. “If everyone is suggesting it, there might be a reason. It’s because they care about you and want to see you succeed.” 

“I know,” he sighed, sobering himself. “I went a few years back, but… That was more grief counseling than anything. Meryl insisted. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to go back… I’ve got a hundred and sixty years worth of backlog to work through.” 

“Remember that different counselors have different specialties,” Chronica advised. “If your last counselor was a grief specialist, it may be good to look into one that specializes in anxiety and depression. And if you’re considering medication, make sure you find one that’s certified to treat Independents, too—it’s a separate certification from a human psychiatrist.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he replied.

He hadn’t committed to anything, but whether or not he actually went was his business. Chronica had done her part, in her opinion, just by encouraging him to go and offering him what advice and information she knew. And if he had trouble finding an Independent certified psychiatrist, should he need one, Chronica had access to those resources, as well. 

It was partly duty, a sense of obligation to make sure another Independent knew what their options were, but it was also… Vash certainly wasn’t a replacement for Domina, but it was nice to connect with someone else who understood her, who shared aspects of her personal experience. Maybe she didn’t fully consider him a brother, not quite yet, but… 

Well, she wasn’t minding the idea as much as she had four years ago. 

“By the way,” Vash said, changing the subject in a very Vash way, “would you like to come over for dinner sometime? I know it’s kind of a drive from here, but Meryl and Milly keep saying they’d love to have you over. Livio and Razlo visit, too—some holidays are coming up, and… Well, y’know. Didn’t know if you had any plans.” 

Chronica paused. She typically worked through the holidays, on account of her parents being long gone. She also didn’t have any living extended family, either. Occasionally, she used to take a day or two off to spend with Domina, but… Well, that was no longer possible. 

So Chronica worked through holidays, since she didn’t have the same personal duties that her coworkers often had. She could take her vacation at other times, to allow others to have that time with their families and loved ones. 

But… Well, it was still lonely. Chronica didn’t mind it, because that too was her duty, but… 

She almost felt like she might be intruding, joining Vash with his family during their holiday celebration, and she knew everyone from his family was human. It’d been so long since she’d considered anyone human family, but… Well, she was also aware that his family was far from traditional. He lived with a lesbian couple, despite the fact she was fairly certain his relationship with the two of them was purely platonic. He was the uncle to their child, despite sharing no blood with them and not once calling them his siblings. And Livio and Razlo had also secured their status as uncles, despite not living with the trio or sharing any kind of blood relation to them, either. 

It reminded her of the types of families that Independents often built for themselves. 

Aside from when humans adopted them, firmly slotting in who was a parent and who was a child (and who were siblings, if applicable), Plants rarely had their familiar relationships defined for them as cleanly as humans did. They were born from Dependents, and yet they had no idea which Dependent was their parent. Their human families lived shorter lives than them, often leaving Independents isolated and alone when they aged and left them behind.

So Independents often sought each other out as lovers, or as siblings, or as parents, or as children. Many Independents never defined their relationships with one another, but the fact they existed as families was plain nonetheless. Many Independents often included humans in these families, as well—in fact, almost all of them did. 

Chronica had felt that way about Domina. She’d never put a strict definition or label on their relationship, other than knowing they weren’t lovers, but they had been family all the same. 

And she had lost her family. 

She knew Vash had, as well. 

He’d just rebuilt his, where Chronica had stayed stuck, unable to move on after losing Domina. She felt bad, like accepting his invitation would be an attempt to hijack his work and slot herself into the little family he’d built for himself, but at the same time… She felt herself not wanting to decline.

“...I think I’d like that,” she finally said. 

Vash beamed at her, and Chronica knew she would be welcome.

Chapter 2

“Have you thought about coming to the Plant facility with me?” 

Chronica paused. “That, again? I had told you I would consider it later.” 

“That was five years ago,” Vash whined. “How many times are you going to say ‘later?’ You’re not Meryl, you can’t keep getting away with that.” 

Chronica felt Meryl could only get away with it because she never truly forgot—she’d met the woman a few times, and the fact that Meryl’s organization and ability to plan impressed even Chronica was an accomplishment in and of itself. Her memory was better than Chronica’s, and far better than Vash’s. She was the one who kept Vash, Milly, Livio, and Razlo all in line on top of her job and making sure her child’s early development and healthcare was on track. 

“Why are you so insistent on this?” Chronica asked, sighing. 

They were in the middle of running an errand, picking up a prescription to bring back for Milly. Vash always grabbed it during his visits to Chronica, since they lived on a little ranch outside a secluded town without a pharmacy. There was a small-town doctor there for emergencies, but since he was technically retired, the family tended to migrate to the city for healthcare needs when they arose. 

“It’s important,” he replied. “It’s… Well, it’s easier to explain, but the Dependents… They have their own thoughts and feelings, too. They live differently, they are different, but there are ways in which they’re the same, as well. It’s important we listen to them, too.” 

Chronica pursed her lips. She supposed that was a good point, one Vash had only brought up recently… He normally dropped the issue pretty quickly whenever she told him she’d think about it or consider it at a later point. She’d never outright said no, though. 

She hadn’t properly thought about it, either, but… Well, Vash was right. She didn’t consider the Dependents her sisters or relatives in the same way Vash did, but they were still her kind, in a way. Chronica was always hesitant to admit that, to place herself closer to them when it meant placing herself farther from humanity, but it was true. She wasn’t human, much as she wore the shell of one. 

“Alright,” she sighed. “When?” 

Vash beamed at her, and started rattling off all the things he had planned in the next few weeks. Chronica felt the corner of her lips tug upwards as she listened to him talk about his nephew’s first birthday, the worm hunting trip he was planning on going on with Razlo and Livio to shore up their food supplies, the work trip he was planning with Meryl as her cameraman, baking with Milly—she was glad to hear that his life was full of so many things, and so much family. 

And she supposed she could accept that she was in those plans, among those ranks. She supposed she could even accept that it made her happy, too, to be included. 

“So, three weeks from now work?” Vash asked, counting on his fingers as though he had his calendar tattooed on his flesh hand. “Or would another time work better?” 

“Three weeks is fine,” she confirmed. She knew nothing was going on with work, what with things finally having settled. 

“Good!”

-/-/-

Three weeks came and went, and sure enough, Chronica soon had herself a Humanoid Typhoon on her doorstep, a box of donuts to share in his grasp. Donuts weren’t her favorite, but he had figured out she liked the toffee flavored ones from the nearby bakery. He’d bought half a dozen, and three of them were toffee. 

Chronica grabbed one for herself and ate as they walked.

Typically, civilians weren’t allowed inside the Plant Facilities, but Chronica wasn’t a civilian. Vash was, technically speaking, but she also knew he’d wormed his way inside regardless of the regulations a few times. No one ever seemed to want to report the issue, though, so it never wound up on Chronica’s desk. She similarly didn’t pursue it herself.

She knew, now, he was harmless. Whenever he was caught on video tape sneaking into a facility, a sick Plant was also suddenly better the next morning. It was unheard of, and given his black hair, she still wasn’t sure how he was doing it. Surely, he didn’t have a powerful enough gate that he could still spare energy even with his hair fully black, could he?

Chronica thought it was best not to pursue it. 

The two of them only got through four of the donuts between them, so Vash dropped the rest off at the receptionist’s desk as he waved them through. He covered the ground rules, that Vash was to always be escorted by Chronica, that they were not to go into the high-security areas, and all the other standard items Chronica was used to hearing.

Even though Chronica was the official, it was Vash who led her through the facility.

“You’ve been here more than a few times,” she noted, recognizing his familiarity with the floor plan. 

He just grinned back at her and pressed a finger to his lips.

She wondered. Vash saw the Dependents as his sisters, just as important to him as Meryl, Milly, Livio, and Razlo. It seemed cruel, then, to deny him visits to his sisters via regulations to begin with. She wondered if some sort of exception could be made for Independents who wished to visit with Dependents. 

Chronica wondered if anyone would even listen to her on that. The humans might question what they needed with Dependents, but… Well, it was worth mentioning, at least.

And then Vash wasn’t walking anymore, having stopped in front of a particular tank. Chronica stopped walking, too, to peer up into the tank at the form of a bulbed Dependent. She shot Vash a questioning look, one that asked ‘what now?’ 

He just smiled and stepped forward, placing both hands onto the tank. Plant lines flared to life on his skin, soft and blue, unlike the red she might’ve expected—and the bulb’s lines responded, flickering to life themselves as the Plant slowly unfurled herself from her wings.

Chronica stared, and with growing horror, took a step back. 

“You tricked me,” she said, betrayal stinging on her voice. “Vash, if I’d known—” 

“Please,” he said, voice soft and pleading as he turned back towards her. His eyes had a glassy, faraway look to them, his brow pinching. “She’s been asking to see you for so long. Please, Chronica.” 

Chronica shook her head, tears stinging in her eyes.

The Plant had floated downwards in the tank, pressing her hands to Vash’s, only the glass separating the two of them. Her eyes remained fixed on Chronica, though. She wasn’t like the typical Dependent; she didn’t have any extra limbs or torsos growing from her, feathers lining her pale, naked skin and eyes bleached white. Wings lined her back in neat sets, giving her an angelic look to her.

Even with her features changed irreversibly, Chronica would never fail to recognize Domina. 

“Was that what this was all for?” she asked. “To parade the corpse of my friend before me?” 

Vash only smiled, a sad and tired tint to it. “Does she look dead to you?” 

“She’s not Domina anymore,” Chronica tried again, desperately fighting against the hope growing in her chest. “Her personality, her memories—they were assimilated, dissolved, when she was forcibly connected with the Fused Entity. They managed to keep her body alive, but not her mind.” 

Domina was dead and buried to her. She’d lost her, mourned her, and moved on. She didn’t want to unbury this pain, to think she might have her friend, her old family, back only to be reminded she would never again be the Domina she knew.

“Nai tried to assimilate me, once, too,” Vash said, turning his gaze back to the Plant that was once Domina. “He nearly succeeded… Domina’s a little farther gone than I ever was, but… The hive mind isn’t some evil thing, waiting to snatch us up and dissolve who we are. It’s a collection of all the thoughts, memories, and wills of all Plants—and many of them love us, want to see us succeed. They don’t bear us any ill will. They can be overwhelming, but they never mean any harm.” 

“Out with it, Vash,” Chronica snapped, tired of him being cryptic. “What do you mean?” 

“Domina’s mind didn’t die. She ceased to exist as an Independent, yes… But when placed into the hands of the hive mind, do you think they’d want to see her destroyed? They preserved her, in the way they knew how. She’s just a Dependent, now. Different, yes. But alive.” 

Chronica drew a shaky breath, ripping her gaze away from Vash to focus on the Plant who’d been Domina before. At her attention, the Plant gave her a toothy grin, one Chronica found achingly familiar. 

It was that that finally convinced her to step forward, approaching the glass of the tank where Vash was. 

Obligingly, he dropped one hand, Plant lines still running through his skin as he stepped back, one hand still pressed against the glass. Domina waited there patiently, staring at Chronica with wide, pupiless eyes. 

She drew in a breath, reaching forward to place a hand against Domina’s. She felt it when Vash snaked his free hand around hers, and she allowed it. 

“It’s a little easier if I’m with you at the start,” he said, his words still a little slower than he would normally talk, as if speaking had somehow gotten more difficult for him. “Trust her. It’ll feel strange, and a little scary, but Domina wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. Let her lead the way, and you’ll be fine. Just relax your mental barriers and let her in, first.” 

He said that, but how was she supposed to do that? 

And yet, she might already know the answer. Chronica felt something, something that probed at the edge of her consciousness, gentle and curious and hopeful all at once. 

Chronica drew in another breath and dropped her guard.

She initially only felt Vash, flashes of a life she’d never lived running through her mind as he pulled her along—two boys playing in a geodome, the smile of a woman who felt like home, the pain of fire-heated sand on bare feet, the playful banter of a man kinder than his shell, a love blooming within the cracks of the dry desert, the pain of hands scraped raw from grave digging—and then it was gone, her mind passed along to somewhere else. 

Someone else.

It was strange. It felt like her mind was going too fast and too slow all at once, a plethora of information shared directly with her but too much to process all at once. She struggled to keep up, the sheer volume of images and feelings and memories being shared with her enough to start to overwhelm her.

She felt Vash again, probing and interjecting something she couldn’t parse, maybe a warning that it was too much; then, the flow of information slowed down. 

And then she started to be able to see what Domina was trying to share—the first time they met, when Domina tripped and Chronica stopped to help her. Domina following on her heels, matching her schedule to Chronica’s so they could take the same courses. Graduating together, requesting the same placement, agreeing to the same missions. 

That final mission, that final fight, when Domina was warped and taken. Chronica saw it all, through her eyes, the way her mind was twisted and taken from her, commandeered by Millions Knives. It filled Chronica’s chest with anger, but a flow of calm followed from Domina. Chronica felt Domina’s hurt, at being hijacked against her will, at being changed and used to hurt Chronica, but then. 

She also felt resignation and peace.

She saw herself, her own form distorted by the curved glass of a tank. Chronica saw her own lips move, and though she couldn’t hear or understand the words, they both knew it was the moment Chronica had ordered them to give up on the slim chance of saving Domina as she had been in order to save No Man’s Land from Millions Knives. 

And Chronica only felt approval and satisfaction from Domina. 

It felt like forgiveness. 

She didn’t put it into words, but she didn’t need to. Chronica understood, because they were connected. Domina felt her pain, felt her guilt, her reluctance to face what Domina had become—and she replied with images of Vash visiting her with a smile and sharing his adventures with her, of scientists stopping and talking with her, of officers stopping by and saluting her. 

Chronica was also given a glimpse of something impossibly vast, a sea of emotions and love and experiences and knowledge the likes of which she’d never be able to comprehend. Domina pulled it away quickly when Chronica’s head began to hurt with the vastness of it all. 

At some point, Vash had stepped back, releasing Chronica’s hand. It allowed her to step forward, pressing her other to Domina’s through the glass and leaning her forehead against it. Domina leaned in, too, and they would be brushing each other if not for the glass.

Chronica probed back, with a quiet question. 

Are you happy? 

She was met with a burst of joy straight from Domina, which neatly answered her questions, but she also felt something else. Images of them together flashed through her mind, their time in cadet school, learning to pilot together, their missions with one another—and then they abruptly ended. 

I’m sorry, Chronica thought. I’ve left you alone all this time. 

More images of Vash, the scientists, the officers, and that unending vastness flashed through Chronica’s mind. Domina wasn’t alone, then. She had her physical visitors, and she had the company of every single Dependent connected to the hive mind. She would never be lonely, and she would never be bored. She had all the company she wanted in the world, now that she was a Dependent. 

And yet, she still missed Chronica. 

Chronica wasn’t sure how much longer they communicated for. It was strange, to learn to just feel and think and remember things and know that Domina would understand her meaning. It was even stranger to parse it when Domina shared back, but somehow, it was impossible to misunderstand one another like this. 

She wanted to keep going, but something within her was fraying—her mind wasn’t built for this, at least not long-term, and she needed to pull back and rest. 

Chronica was loath to, not after she’d just gotten to speak with her again, but Domina gently probed back, urging Chronica not to push herself. In return, Chronica shared images of how close the facility was to her work, thought of stopping by more often on her way home. She was met with a burst of happiness from Domina. 

Stepping back and pulling her hands away from the glass felt like ripping a part of herself out of her chest, and it left her blinking in the empty facility with a head that was too empty and a world that was suddenly strange and difficult to process. Chronica let herself stand there and adjust, focusing on her breathing to ground and steady herself. 

She focused on her four senses, so limited compared to the depth of information Domina shared with her but familiar all the same; the taste of the cool and clinical air of the facility, the soft blue glow of the tanks, the smell of chemicals and metal in the air, and the sound of whirring machines and swirling liquid. She curled her fingers, her toes, taking stock of her limited form until she felt herself again.

When she felt one with her own body again, she found Domina staring at her with wide, concerned eyes. 

Chronica smiled at her and said, “I’m alright. Don’t worry about me, I just needed a moment.” 

Domina tilted her head, and Chronica knew she likely wouldn’t understand, not based on words alone. She wasn’t ready to open her mind up like that again, though, so she simply widened her smile and patted her chest. Domina got her meaning this time, concern fading from her eyes and a toothy grin creeping up her features.

She might be different now, but… She was still Domina. 

She was happy, and Chronica could see her whenever she wanted. It was… Probably the happiest ending they could have, all things considered.

And it was all thanks to—

—Vash, the same man who was nowhere to be found.

“For the love of,” she sighed, shaking her head and turning to Domina. “Did you see where Vash went?” 

Domina wouldn’t understand her words, no, but she was smart enough to understand based on context clues. She giggled, pointing in her tank towards the exit of the Plant facility.

“Thank you,” she said. And then, she promised, “I’ll be back. I’ll see you again, and again—I won’t give you the chance to miss me anymore.” 

Domina smiled, waving her off. 

Chronica didn’t run after him, but she did walk very quickly towards the exit, her brows knit in annoyance. Vash probably knew nothing would go wrong, since it was Domina he was leaving her in the hands of, but it still seemed irresponsible of him to abandon her like that. She knew for a fact she was disoriented for minutes afterwards, during which she could’ve been attacked or incapacitated. 

At the same time, she suspected she knew why he’d run. 

In the process of connecting her with Domina, Vash had let some of his own memories slip through to Chronica. Some, she knew of—he and Knives must have been boys at some time, and she could recognize Meryl and Milly when she saw them. 

The man, though? A man with a lopsided smile, dark hair, brown skin, a suit, a giant cross strapped to his back—a man who believed himself the worst of humanity, but Vash had seen so much good and kindness in him. There had been love there, a love that Vash had lost and buried.

Chronica wasn’t the only one who’d mourned after the near end of the world, but at the very least, she could still see and talk with the one she’d once thought lost to her forever. 

She was lucky, in that regard, and it made her understand why Vash was so insistent she visit Domina. Without him, she would have felt Domina, her first family, was dead and gone forever when she was just a stone’s throw away. Different, yes, but still alive, just as Vash had insisted.

Chronica had fully left the facility and was walking onto the street before she caught sight of Vash, his flashy red coat and above average height giving him away in the crowd. Chronica quickened her pace, dodging people in the sidewalks until she was able to yank Vash back by his ear to get him to stop.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow, geez!” he exclaimed, as she tugged him to the side between two shops so they were out of the way of foot traffic. “Come on, what did I do now?” 

Chronica released his ear, crossed her arms, and… She didn’t know what now. She was annoyed he left her alone and tried to run off, but there was something more important to address here, wasn’t there? 

She understood that loss he felt, the pain that came with it. A simple ‘I’m sorry’ was insufficient. ‘My condolences’ was unsatisfactory. ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ was empty. They were pretty words, but they would do nothing to ease the ache of losing a loved one. 

So Chronica did the only thing she could think to do in that moment.

She pulled Vash into a hug. 

He was taller than her by a few inches, and he stiffened in her arms. Then, he relaxed, arms coming up to rest gently on her back. He seemed stunned, and Chronica didn’t blame him. She was almost never this affectionate, the type of casual hugs and touches he shared with his friends alien and uncomfortable for her. She didn’t even hug Domina all that often.

But she’d make an exception, this time. 

“Thank you,” she said, before he got a chance to say anything. “And if you still want to be my brother… Well, I don’t think I could’ve asked for a better one.” 

Vash’s grip on her tightened, a shaky breath coming from him. Maybe Chronica should’ve taken them somewhere more private, because his voice was wobbly when he said, “Thank you, Chronica. I’d be happy to have you as my sister.” 

“Consider it done.” She’d normally pull back at this point, with long hugs not particularly being her thing, but Vash was still clutching her. So she stood there, until he calmed enough to pull back. 

And now… Well, Chronica’s family had gotten a bit bigger, with new loved ones and old loved ones alike. She thought she’d spend the rest of her life alone, five years ago, and look at her now. 

Maybe the rumors of the Human Typhoon’s back luck weren’t so founded after all. 

Notes:

Thank you for reading!!

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Notes:

I had fun with this one! I've had a lot of theories on Plants I haven't been able to utilize in fics too often!