After episode 11, Escape from Pain, during episode 16, Fifth Moon, and afterwards...
When I look at you, I'm reminded of everything I hate about myself...
Wolfwood stood, his head lowered, his mind repeating those words over and over again.
Why had he said them? Would Vash understand what he'd meant?
That he'd had no time to explain, no time to say goodbye, gave him a pain in his gut. He'd woken up sweating, every morning of the thirteen days since then, seeing the hurt in the turquoise eyes shining behind his own eyelids.
A cool, strong hand under his chin dragged his attention up to Legato's face. A wave of hate passed through him - he didn't bother trying to hide it, the telepath would *hear* it anyway, and Legato really didn't give a fuck what his inferiors thought or felt about him.
Sharp nails pressed into his skin. The telepath's voice was languid, patronising, amused.
"So you found him attractive. Well, you're not the first. Or the only. Tell me, did you act on your feelings?"
Not yet... He could have kicked himself: of course Legato would *hear* the thought. The telepath chuckled.
"The Master is - not displeased. And you have so far kept him safe from harm. You will continue to do so."
Wolfwood could hardly believe his luck. "I'm... free to go?"
*None of us are free, Nicholas D Wolfwood. But yes, you may go.*
"Where is he?"
"On his way to Augusta."
Augusta... It would take him another eight days to get there. If the bike didn't pack up on him again. He nodded.
"I'll leave right away."
Legato inclined his head. As Wolfwood turned to go, he smiled. His smile, like his *voice*, was sarcastic.
*Do try not to fall in love...*
It may be a bit late for that. Wolfwood smiled to himself as the sand flew beneath the bike's wheels. Though he wasn't altogether certain that what he felt for the gunman was love... But if not that, then what?
He shook his head, unwilling to dissect his feelings just then. It was more important to get to Vash, make sure nothing had happened to him while he'd been sidetracked into this stupid trip to speak with Legato.
He frowned. Why had the telepath insisted on that, anyway? It had been a waste of time - he could just as easily have *lifted* the information from Wolfwood's mind. Unless Legato had wanted him out of the way for a while, away from his charge...
But Knives didn't want Vash hurt. And for all his unpredictability, Legato worshipped Knives. He would not disobey his Master.
Would he?
Grimly, Wolfwood accelerated through the shimmering afternoon...
Too late...
Wolfwood looked out over the ruins, grief in the eyes hidden behind his shades.
"Is this the path you have chosen, Vash the Stampede?"
Or is it the one that's been forced on you?
He'd guess the latter, since Rai-dei had been here. The Guns were involved. Which meant Legato was responsible. What was the telepath playing at? What was Knives playing at?
He sighed. As though the gunman needed this extra grief! But at least no-one had been killed. Well, not by Vash, anyway. And if Rai-dei was right, Vash would be here somewhere in the debris, probably hurt, no doubt distraught. Leaving the bike, Wolfwood headed towards the blast's epicentre, struggling over precarious mounds of fallen masonry.
Twenty-two days later he stood before Legato again, head lowered, concentrating on his pain (both physical and emotional) to stop the telepath from looking deeper - not that he was likely to, despising others as he did. But Wolfwood didn't want him to know about the big silver gun nestling against the small of his back, tucked into the waistband of his pants.
"Couldn't find him. He might be buried under the rubble - no way to tell..."
"He's alive."
Wolfwood stared, afraid to believe it, expecting it to be another of Legato's casual cruelties. The telepath smiled, stroking the back of his left hand with the fingers of the right.
"Alive?"
"Oh yes. Vash will not die so easily."
Track down Vash the Stampede ...
Wolfwood sat astride the bike at the vague crossroads, back aching from constant riding, head aching from sunglare, heart just aching, wondering which of the latest Vash-sightings he should follow up first. And if it really mattered. After all, they were bound to be false alarms, just more smart-ass kids trying to make names for themselves, or has-beens trying to strike fear into their intended victims.
Oh Vash... Where are you?
He rubbed at his forehead and tossed a coin.
OK - left it was...
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