150 Bullets

126. Enjoy (pt. 4/4)

It's market day, and Gerard's Way is the central location for several towns to meet up. Toma pull heavy carts, men and women put up stalls in the town square, and kids run around with small kites and new blunted metal toy men in their grimy hands.

Clat...clat...clat...clat. Your crutch taps the dirt as you walk through town. You'd insisted; being cooped up in the small hospital for the past month was fraying your nerves. Vash, as ever, was by your side, a hand placed in the crook of your elbow both to keep close and pull you out of the way of any large group of market goers trampling through.

"How you doing?" He asks after a cart rolled by. His free hand comes up and waves the dust away. "Need a break yet?"

Doc Ren would say 'yes,' but she isn't here right now. And you're too excited to see things to care about the stitch in your side. "Nah, I'm good. Look! They're selling hot buns!"

Vash's head snaps toward the smell. Even over the din, you can hear his stomach. He'd been better about eating the past couple weeks – mostly to keep up appearances of being human – but you'd hoped to get him to eat a bit more now that you were on the up and up. Not waiting for his go-ahead, you clat-clatted over to the stall. A middle-aged woman with streaks of gray in her black hair nodded a greeting, taking out more hot cross buns from the portable oven in the back of her stall. "Raspberry, pistachio, chocolate, and red bean," she said. Her hand waved at the display. "Two double-dollars each."

You lick your lips and pat at Vash's side pocket. "We'll take a chocolate and...what do you want?"

Vash smiles and swats your hand away, pulling out the tattered wallet from his coat. "I'll try a pistachio, sure."

A sense of victory washes over you. He's going to eat! When the buns are in Vash's hands, he leads you toward a bench sitting in front of the barber's shop. You sit bodily, wincing. The stitch in your side is getting worse. Maybe you should have cooled it ten minutes ago. And Vash, ever observant, gives you a look. "We should probably head back to the med building after this. You've been going for almost an hour."

You wave a hand and take your chocolate bun from him. "Just need to rest, don't worry. All part of healing."

He purses his lips. "Mayfly, Doc Ren said we have to be careful how much you move for a while."

You only hum, deigning to ignore his worry. "I want to be out of that room for as long as possible."

Vash finally says, "We're going back in ten minutes."

"Fifteen."

"Twelve."

"Thirteen and a half." You stick out your hand and wait for him to shake it.

Vash sighs but takes your hand with a smirk. "Thirteen and a half." He finally sits by you. His smile comes back as he watches the masses cross the roads and walkways of the town. He loves to people watch. He laughs when a couple of teenagers run past, one chasing the other. Another smile appears as an old couple shuffles by. The man tips his hat at the two of you while the wife smiles beatifically.

"Think that'll be us one day?" You ask, biting into your roll. A tube of chocolate goo comes out of the side slowly.

Vash hums and bites into his own roll. His mouth salivates with the taste, and soon he's too focused on food to answer. It's alright. You prefer him to eat than to answer your silly question anyway. You laugh when his own tube of green pistachio cream leaves its side and brushes against his cheek. He hurries to eat it, humming again at the taste. "This...is...really good," he says between a mouthful.

"Lemme try a bite," you say. He hands you the bun, taking your own to try his own bite of chocolate goodness. The pistachio cream with the bun is delightfully delicious, creamy and sweet and nutty at the same time. Vash could say the same about the chocolate, licking his fingers of the cream.

"We should get some more," Vash says, looking longingly at the bun stall. "For the trip back!"

You grin. That's what you like to see – him eating instead of moping. "We can try the other flavors too." Looking down at your half-eaten food, you say quietly, "Thanks for letting me get out, birdie. I know you were worried about it."

Vash laughs bashfully, looking down at his feet. "Well, can't keep you cooped up all the time, right? You would have found a way to sneak out eventually anyway. You like markets too much."

It's true. Markets are fun to walk around. "Still, thanks for letting me. And thanks for being with me."

He leans down and kisses you on the cheek. "Anything for you, Mayfly." He pauses, then snorts and wipes off your cheek of green pistachio. "Sorry."

You grin and kiss his cheek, leaving bits of chocolate on it. "I'm not."

And you aren't. Not for the chocolate kiss, not the situation you're in, not for staying with him through it all. You want to tell him this. You will, one day. He needs to hear it. But doing it in the middle of a market day seems droll and unimportant. So you enjoy the rest of your thirteen and a half minutes, both of you pointing out odd-looking or interesting people and their activities, or watching street performers dance down the road, looking for c-cents thrown their way for the act. And maybe you exchange some pistachio-chocolate kisses too. Just for the enjoyment as well.