Tempest Wind (Vash x F!Reader)

Patchwork

After a while, you pull away to look at him again; he looks exhausted but happy. His eyes are looking into yours with love and appreciation. It's like you're kicked into gear again, the initial daze of relief wearing off.

"I brought you some food; it's nothing fancy, as I feared I'd have to force it down your throat, but hopefully it will help you get your strength back a bit. You must be starving."

As if to prove your point, his stomach lets out a growl, and you smile. Ready to go and bring his bowl, you push away from the bed, but his hand grabs yours. He sits up and pulls you closer. As you lean towards him, his hand lets go and travels to your cheek. He kisses you softly, and you taste salt, unsure if it is from your dried tears or his.

When he is finally willing to let go, you stand up and grab his prosthetic arm from the bedside and help him attach it. He moves the metallic fingers and makes sure everything works. Having your back towards him as you grab the food, you hear the bed complaining with a creak, and a muffled thump whips you around. You see Vash smiling awkwardly on the edge of the bed, his legs over the edge. You look him up and down, trying to understand.

"I guess it will take me a bit longer before I can stand up," he says as he scratches the back of his head.

"You just stay put, and if you need something, I'll be your crutch. I'm the one who hauled you here in the first place. Don't be a hero now." You go to him and hand over the bowl. As he looks into it, you grab the blanket and drape it over his shoulders.

"Yeah, I think I vaguely remember that. Didn't you call me your good-for-nothing husband?" He chuckles, and you look away, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks.

"I didn't say anything of that sort!" You deny his accusation, but know there's a good chance Mary will confirm his suspicion the next time she sees him. "Eat your food! And we should take the stitches out."

"No need to get so defensive!" he laughs lightly and picks up the spoon.

You keep yourself busy by finding all the supplies you'll need to take out the stitches, being careful to keep your face hidden, and hoping he won't see the blush. What else did he hear, and how much does he remember?

The clink of the spoon and bowl as he puts them on the floor is your sign to take all that you need and go back to the bed. You wave at him to lay down again, and he pulls his legs back onto the mattress. He settles into a half-sitting position against the pillows.

"I hope it doesn't hurt; I don't really know, so if you need painkillers or something, tell me immediately; don't play a tough guy!" You look him seriously in the eyes to drive your point across.

"But I am a tough guy!" he says with his signature puppy-dog gaze, and all you can do is roll yours.

Carefully, you start on the sutures on his stomach, and he doesn't even flinch. Very rarely, when something snags, he lets out a light hiss but then reassures you that it's nothing. Even though nothing bleeds and seems to be perfectly healed, you give it a light coating of ointment to make sure absolutely nothing will go wrong anymore. As you move on to his shoulder, you see him looking at you. His eyes never leave your face.

"Do they scare you?" he suddenly asks in a quiet voice.

"What do you mean? Do what scare me?" you wonder, focusing on removing the threads.

"The scars and patches..." his voice goes even lower. "They aren't really things I like girls to see. Think most people would run away..."

As you remove the last stitch, you rub more ointment on the pink scars and leave your hand on them.