𝘨𝘢𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘳

Chapter 28. Metanoia

*so sorry for such a late chapter!!! my insp has been bleh and life hectic! it's unfortunately short too, i haven't worked on it a whole lot.

next year i will be back and tinkering I promise! happy holidays!

-

"A ticket with no destination," Rem had told Vash. "After my husband had died, I always had this dream and thought "I can go anywhere"."

"Ugh!" I sit upright, joggling memories as I shake my hair (and sand) out. My gaze wanders to a still asleep Vash, suddenly making me very annoyed. It'd be better if he had told me, instead of showing me because it's doing my head in.

Smoke clouds my glasses in the next moment, making me cough violently. For the first time in a while, I can smell that lingering scent of repugnant tobacco with a hint of Wolfwood's three day old breath. I look over at him, having a smoke and narrow my eyes in annoyance. "Really?" I ask. "This early in the morning? The sun is barely up."

He dismisses me, taking a drag mockingly in front of me. "You're sleeping so close to Vash? That late at night?" he asks.

I turn my head again to look at Vash, who is in fact uncomfortably close to my frame. I'm still holding his hand. We'd talked for too long and fallen asleep.

I pull my hand away abruptly, finally coming to my senses. "Gah!" I run my hand in the sand, unfortunately laced with cold sweat. I scrunch my face into disgust before breaking into a sigh.

"What is it, blueberry?" he asks.

"Aren't you guilty?" I ask. "We're learning so much... going  through so much— for this guy. Don't you have regrets? Doesn't it hurt to lie to him?"

"I'm doing my job. You're doing yours," Wolfwood replies.

"No, I'm not. I don't work for Knives or Legato anymore. I'm not a gung ho. I just replaced Shana out of spite, but I'm Rebecca and she's moved on. I'm not scared or anything, of course I'll be killed but I'm happy. Even if these days may be my end, hanging with you two idiots makes it okay."

"That's funny, coming from you," Vash, awake now, says. "You used to be hellbent on making sure we were corpses."

"I was hellbent on killing a lot more people than you, mister sixty-billion double dollar man," I reply. The sand sweeps over the campfire, the stench of blood, smoke, and cloth wafted to my nostrils. I scrunch my nose in disgust. "I wasn't ever a huge fan of killing anyways... we should really go."

It's only a few more hours on my bike, which by the way isn't meant to pull three people. That makes up the last good laugh before I need to get serious. When we crash, toppling over and narrowly avoiding concussions and broken necks, I'm not very angry. Vash is twisted in the sand, Wolfwood face down.

The sound starts low, and courtesy of my surprise I try to stifle it below my throat. It comes out in a hard wheeze as a result, almost as if I've aggressively coughed since my throat is so dry. I myself have fallen in my side, blowing the sand up by my mouth as I laugh and wheeze. Choking and coughing on whatever comes in, I roll on my back with a sigh. Then I start giggling again, my voice foreign so full of glee and mischief. Suddenly, although my life has been so long, I still hadn't had enough time with Vash. Or Wolfwood. Meryl. Millie. Shana. Everyone. I'd wasted it alone and brooding, so closed off I forgot to laugh. I forgot to enjoy my time, right up until the point where I am sure I'm to die.

"Revy..." Vash starts, out of pure bewilderment and a solid ten percent of my contagious giddiness.

"I haven't drank!" I claim, just to bring up more astonishment at my laughter.