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The first time he saw her, Nicolas wasn’t even sure she was real. She was a little wisp of a girl, thin and pale. She looked like a small bird that could be easily be swept away by a strong enough wind. Her long, ink black hair was fashioned into two twin braids, and her violet eyes were tinged red from crying. She was almost certainly younger than he was, not due to her size, since the drugs and experiments made it hard to judge age, but rather because they hadn’t yet beaten all her tears out of her. She didn’t look like she belonged here, though, no one really belonged at in the Eye of Micheal.
Nicolas was shocked to see another teenager, let alone a girl, at the Eye. He knew, logically, that he couldn’t be the only kid scooped up, but with the close watch typically kept on him, it’s not like he was allowed contact with anyone else. He was a weapon, and weapons don’t need friendship or love, beyond the companionship of their handler, and calling *that* love was enough to make him choke up bile.
He glanced around, making sure no one could see him, lest he get them both thrown against the nearest wall. “Hey,” he whispered, gesturing in her direction.
She looked at him, clearly confused, and obviously worried, unsure if she should speak.
“Braids,” Nicolas said, a little louder, “C’mere.”
She cautiously scurried closer to him, her black dress making a light shuffling sound as she walked.
“Here,” he tossed her a small object, which she caught, with no issue. Well, her reflexes must at least partially explain why she’s here.
She stared skeptically at the small object in her hand: a tiny, bright red candy wrapped in shiny cellophane.
“It’s candy,” Nicolas explained, “Ya eat it.” He was used to comforting crying babies back in the orphanage, but crying assassins was something out of his specialty.
“I know what candy is,” the girl mumbled, clearly a bit apprehensive, “Why did you give it to me?”
“I dunno,” he a ran a hand through his short black hair, “I jus’ wanted to help.”
She seemed to accept that, and quickly unwrapped it. She popped it into her mouth, “I killed someone.”
“I figured,” Nicolas admitted, “It sucks.” He could remember the first time he killed, the warm blood sticking sickly to his face, and the sickening metallic scent that permeated the air. He’d promptly vomited, and had gotten beaten for it immediately afterwards. He wondered if the same thing had happened to her.
She visibly calmed, after sucking on the candy for a moment. They stood there, quietly, unsure what to say to each other for a minute.
The girl broke the silence first, “Does it get easier?”
Nicolas thought for a moment, and answered, “Yeah, it gets easier.” That was almost worse, but it was true. He wondered if she knew that. He wished it didn’t get easier, that killing hasn’t become second nature to him. He wished he still got sick at the sight of someone’s brains being splattered against the sand. He wished he had the privilege of being horrified, of not being a monster.
She smiled, fake and sad, “I should, um, get going. He’ll be angry with me if I’m gone too long.”
Nicholas could relate to the sentiment immediately. If the old man knew he was talking to someone, he would probably end up pistol whipped again, “Yeah, I get it. I should probably get goin’ myself.”
She gave a quick and polite bow, definitely something unusual for this area. He wondered where she came from, her looks and mannerisms were certainly out of the ordinary, but he knew better than to ask. At the very least, he knew she was an orphan, like himself.
Despite the obvious differences, something about her, deep within her, seemed the same to him. Something about them was the same. Maybe he was simply projecting, it’s not like he wasn’t used to being unwanted or alone, but the loneliness still ached inside him all the same.
“Name’s Nicolas,” He said, feeling like he should at least give her that much, after imposing on her.
She gave him a small smile, “Homura. See you later, Nicolas.”
“Stay alive, Braids,” he answered, as they both hurried in opposite directions. He hoped she would stay alive. He wondered if he would be able see her again. It would’ve been something to worry about even outside of this place, but inside, if the targets didn’t kill you, the experiments might. He often wondered if he would die on the operating table, and sometimes wished he would.
“I can’t die,” She affirmed as she walked away, “There’s something I need to do.”
The second time Nicolas saw the girl, Homura, it had been at least a year, if not two or three. It was hard to tell, as time seemed broken at Eye, minutes felt like years, while actual years seemed to rush by in an instant.
Nicolas was on his way back from a kill, but was taking his time, looking for any moment of peace before returning to the watchful, vile gaze of Chapel.
He looked different, older than what one would normally grow in that period of time, but she looked different as well. She looked a couple of years older. She’d lost the baby fat in her cheeks, and had grown a few inches. She’d also lost the braids, her long hair tied into a black ponytail in their place.
However, her eyes, dull and hollow, looked as if they had seen lifetimes. He knew well enough that they had. He was sure his eyes were similar, but he felt oddly happy to see her again, and wondered if that was kind or cruel, “Hey, Braids.”
She glanced in his direction, a look of mild surprise on her face, “I thought you died.”
“Hey now, I don’ die easy,” he huffed in manufactured annoyance, “ ‘Sides, you’re so skinny I’m surprised they even let ya hold a gun.”
She rolled her eyes at him. It was then that he noticed a bruise under her right eye, splotches of blue and black like petals of a flower from hell. He wondered if she’d been beaten recently, or if a target had managed to strike back before she killed them. Both options made his stomach churn. Either way, it was clear she wasn’t crying anymore.
“Are you hungry?” Nicolas asked her, pulling out the sandwich he was going to eat from the knapsack he kept around his waist. It wasn’t anything special, just thin slices of hard smoked toma, cheese, and bread. All ingredients were of the cheapest variety available, for sustenance, rather than pleasure: the toma dry and hard to chew, the cheese a bit sticky and nearly flavorless, and the bread course, with little bits of unground wheat.
He unwrapped it, careful to keep the brown paper it was wrapped in from making too much noise, “It’s bad, but it’s food.”
Her stomach grumbled, and she
gave a small, embarrassed scowl at herself. It must have been a long time since she’d eaten. Nicolas didn’t comment, but held out half of the sandwich in her direction, which she quickly took.
They sat down in the sand, against a large rock. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, but at least they were alone for a moment. The sandwich was too dry and hard to be truly enjoyable. The meat required a lot of chewing to even be edible, and the cheese stuck to the roofs of their mouths in a way that was mildly uncomfortable.
“Thank you for the food,” Homura said, after swallowing her last bite.
“No problem,” Nicolas yawned, “Did ya ever do what you were plannin’ to?”
She frowned, “It’s in progress.”
“That so?” He pulled out a packet of cigarettes out of his knapsack. He pulled one out of the paper packet, and lit it, taking a deep huff, “Do ya want one?”
Homura gave him a disapproving look, “I’m not interested in dying faster.”
He rolled his eyes, “S’not like this line of work is gonna let us live long anyway.”
“I plan on staying alive for as long as necessary,” She stated, “I have someone to protect. That person is more dear to me than anything.”
The lack of pronouns made him raise an eyebrow. It also made something inside him twinge, like some semblance of solidarity. Something that after never meeting someone like himself before, made Nicolas want to ask her more and more, to somehow signal to her that they were, somehow, the same in this way.
“Is,” He started to say, before running his hand through his hair, awkwardly, “Do you uh?”
Homura blinked at him, “Yes?”
“Uh,” He felt himself blush, “Is that person another girl?”
Homura’s entire body stiffened, like a cat ready to strike. Her words were sharp, poisoned daggers, a concealed threat just under the surface, “Do you have an issue with that?”
“No,” He answered, honestly. His guilt and self loathing didn’t extend to others, “I jus’ wanted to say ‘m the same. I mean, I don’t have anybody, but.” He found himself unable to finish, and looked down at his feet.
“I see,” She said, her thin body visibly loosened. She gave him a slight, if sad, smile. In another situation, they’d have likely talked more about it, but it’s not like they had the time. Even if they did, they likely wouldn’t have the lifespan for it to matter. “I think, in the future,” she continued, her violet eyes seemed to shine despite the harsh light of the unforgiving sun, “You will find someone dear to you, who you would do anything to protect.”
He wanted to laugh at her. He wanted to cry. He knew he was unlovable, something left to rot. The idea of being precious to someone felt more like a burden, no one should be cursed with his love. He gave a short laugh, “I almost feel bad for the guy, if that’s true.”
“He’ll love you, too,” She stared directly into his eyes, with such conviction he froze, with something close to fear.
The tiny assassin girl then stood up, and brushed off her dress. She spoke causally, as if their conversation hadn’t happened at all, “I’ll be leaving soon.”
“Do ya mean from here, or from them,” he asked, the warm smoke drifted around his face.
“Both,” she stated, “I’m going to kill him, then leave.”
Nicolas didn’t bother to ask who he was. He never met her handler, but if he was anything like Chapel, he would deserve it, “I won’t say nothin’.”
“If you do, I will kill you,” Homura’s voice was soft, but the threat was very real.
“If I did, I’d deserve it,” He nodded.
She stood up, and brushed the crumbs from her dress, “Stay alive, Nicolas.”
“I’ll do my best,” he gave her a wave, before standing up and walking in the opposite direction.
The next time they met, neither was alone.
A pink blur ran up to the two men, yelling something incomprehensible. It took Nicolas a moment to even realize it was a human being.
The girl was beautiful, tall and slender, with long, pale pink hair. Her round face and likely quite expressive orchid colored dress, made Nicolas think she had never experienced true hunger.
However, that didn’t she hadn’t experienced other hardships, and she sobbed, nearly incoherent.
Always the bleeding heart, Nicolas watched as his companion, Vash the Stampede quickly turned around to provide any assistance he could. Not that he could really blame him, considering this girl was the picture of a distressed damsel, rather than some crooked robber or outlaw. Granted, he would absolutely do the same thing for any crooked robber.
“Hey, Little Lady, what’s wrong?” Vash asked her, spinning on his heels to face her properly.
The woman took a breath, and hiccuped, “My friend, she’s been shot and is bleeding horribly!” Tears poured out of her eyes like a fountain, “Please! Please help me save her!”
“Show me where, I’ll save her! I promise!” He grabbed her hand, and let the woman guide him. They kicked up huge waves of sand as they spend to the scene of the attack.
Nicolas ran after them, feeling mildly annoyed Vash had promised he could save her. He couldn’t know that, but he knew better than to point it out.
He was absolutely shocked to see Homura lying on a rock. She was clearly an adult now, even if she was only barely taller than when they were teenagers. She was leaner than her partner, with a boxier frame, but it was obvious she had muscles from regular physical activity, rather than from intentional workouts. She had a sharpness that her friend, in all her softness, lacked.
The issue was clear, she’d been shot multiple times in her stomach, and left to bleed out. The blood had already soaked through her white button up top, and spread out, like morbid wings, onto the large rock her friend had placed her on.
“Holy shit!” Nicolas yelled out, “You’re alive!”
Homura twitched at hearing his voice, and opened one eye to peek at him. Her voice was shallow and heavy, barely above a whisper, “I don’t die easy.”
The pink girl looked between the pair, and blushed, looking self conscious, “Um, do you know each other?”
“Kind of,” Nicolas stumbled over how to explain ‘We were in the same cult,’ and settled on, “We’ve met a few times.”
Vash turned to the her, “Have you been able to bandage her at all?”
She nodded, pulling up her partner’s top the slightest amount, just enough to show the makeshift bandages she’d used in an attempt to stop the bleeding. She’d done a decent job, but the wounds were too deep, and blood seeped through.
“Can,” Homura spoke weakly, “Can I speak to Nicolas alone?”
The pink woman made an apprehensive expression, but then forced herself to smile, trusting her friend over her inherent distrust of this stranger, “Okay.”
“Don’t worry,” Homura said, soothingly, “He likes men, not women.”
“Eh?!” Both Vash and the pink woman shouted in unison, staring at the tall man in shock.
Meanwhile, Nicolas felt as though he might drop dead from embarrassment. He made a strangled sound, like that of a dog choking to death, and turned bright red, before managing to speak, “Okay, okay, everyone who doesn’t have black hair git out!”
Being the middle of the dessert, there wasn’t an out to get to, but the two obediently scurried out of earshot.
“Do you still have any serums?” Homura asked him, once their companions had left.
“I got a few,” Nicolas pulled one from his pocket, and quickly removed the lid, letting it fall to the ground. He leaned her head gently forward, as he put the vial to her lips.
She weakly drank what she could of the bright blue fluid, coughing lightly. She made a disgusted face, and stuck out her tongue.
“Yeah, still tastes like shit,” Nicolas smiled, amused, “That’s what you get fer tellin’ em that.”
She rolled her eyes in response, and winced as the drugs worked their magic. She shuddered and lurched forward, gripping tightly onto Nicolas’s forearms.
The amount of pressure in her grip hurt, but he didn’t react. “Hey, it’s okay,” he attempted to soothe her through the obvious pain, letting her lean on him, “It’ll be over in a second.”
There was a sharp clatter of metal, as two bullets made their way out of her stomach and fell onto rock she was sitting on.
Homura let out a gasp, and shut her eyes. She loosened her grip, and fell forwards.
He caught her, with a surprising amount of grace. She would be okay, thankfully, but the likely ex-assassin, clearly hadn’t used any serum in years, and it had been rough on her body.
Nicolas carefully maneuvered Homura so he held her on his back, much like an older brother giving piggyback ride to his little sister. Her head rested gently on his shoulder, as he securely held her up. He walked off towards their companions, a clearly worried blur of red and pink.
“She’ll be fine,” He said to them, as he approached, “She’s just tired and will need rest.” She was asleep, but alive.
“Thank you so much for saving my Homura!” The pink haired woman cried, of happiness this time, “It’s all my fault she got injured. She was protecting me from bandits.”
“Wolfwood would never let us down,” Vash smiled at him. He patted the woman’s shoulder casually, then added, “Ms. Madoka here said she would take us out to dinner at the nearest town once Ms. Homura was recovered.”
Madoka smiled at him, “Please let me thank you! I’m not very useful in fighting, so the only real thing I can do is treat you to dinner.”
“Pretty sure you’re doin’ more than that for this gal, here,” He smiled back at her.
Neither Madoka nor Vash asked what he had done to heal her, likely both were used to their partners being evasive. Nicolas didn’t say much as they made their way towards the nearby town, and neither did Homura, on account of being asleep.
However, Vash and Madoka did talk, and about nearly everything unimportant. He told her variously exciting stories and exploits, though nothing that would lead to exposing his true nature, and she hung on every word.
She explained a bit more of her situation, as well. She’d been part of a new colonization mission sent by earth, where various families were given a stipend to move to city they were setting up on No Man’s Land. It attracted people from poor families, but Madoka’s mother was actually part of the organization who set up the city, and therefore had been well-off even before coming to No Man’s Land as a teenager.
It explained her soft appearance, she’d likely never had to deal with starvation or beatings. Still, that didn’t explain why she was so far from home, but Vash wasn’t one to pry, and Nicolas wasn’t one to ask questions he didn’t want answered. Plus, the pair’s overly cheerful back and forward and semi-fake smiles were irritating.
He let out a sigh, and Madoka squeaked upon hearing him. “Are you alright, Mr. Wolfwood? Are you tired?”
“ ‘M fine,” he grumbled, obviously annoyed.
“Um,” She bit her lip. She then turned and whispered into his ear, “Don’t worry, I’m taken, myself.”
“What,” He started to say, before the implication hit him that she thought he was jealous, and was trying to let him know she wasn’t out to steal his lover. He turned a deep shade of red.
Madoka smiled, and gave him a little thumbs up. He wished that someone would appear out of nowhere, and shoot him in the head to get him out of his embarrassment. Sadly, there are never murderous bandits the one time you want them
“Whatcha talking about?” Vash asked them, looking cheerful.
“It’s a secret,” She giggled, like a teenager.
The blonde made an exaggerated pout, “Pretty please? With a cherry on top?”
Madoka shook her head, “I can’t! It’s my word as a woman in love!”
“Not with this guy, I hope,” Vash pointed a gloved finger in Nicolas’ direction, “He’s too rough and scruffy for a delicate lady as yourself!”
“I will shoot ya, Needle Noggin,” Nicolas grumbled, “If you weren’t holdin’ The Punisher I would.”
“See!” Vash whined dramatically, “He’s much too violent!”
Nicolas, hands being full, swiftly kicked Vash on the back of legs, causing him to tumble forward. He laughed as his friend fell face first into the dust.
Madoka’s pretty face scrunched with worry, before softening as Vash hopped back up with a smile.
It wasn’t long before they reached the town. It wasn’t anything fancy, but they’d all definitely stayed in worse places. Homura also opened her eyes, blinking wearily.
“Can ya walk?” Nicolas asked her, when she lifted her head, “Or do ya need me to carry you to the diner?”
“I can walk,” She answered, sleepily, and let him set her down. She was wobbly, like a baby deer learning to walk, but she was able to stand.
Madoka’s face lip up like the sun upon seeing her friend standing, and she leapt into her arms, causing them both to topple to the ground.
“Homura!” She cried, placing kisses all over her cheeks and forehead, “I’m so so so sorry!” Each kiss left a bright red lipstick print.
“When you said you were ‘a woman in love,’” Vash blushed at the public display of affection, he trailed off, unable to finish his sentence.
“Homura is my wife!” Madoka held out her hand, a simple diamond ring was around her ring finger, which somehow neither man had noticed earlier. She smiled warmly, and pressed a kiss to her wife’s lips, who promptly blushed in response.
“Are you guys ready for dinner?” She asked them, cheerfully squeezing Homura’s hand.
Both men looked and each other and nodded in agreement, feeling flustered by the public adoration.
“It looks like there’s a diner over there,” Homura pointed to a black and white building in the near vicinity with a bright pink sign that said, ‘59 Diner.’
“I assume so, considering it literally says it’s a diner,” Nicolas responded, a bit snarky.
“Don’t be rude,” Vash smacked his back.
“I’ll show ya rude!” He was about to swing at his friend, when Madoka caught him by the arm.
“Let’s go to dinner?” She redirected the men towards the nearby diner.
It didn’t take long for them to reach the aqua blue building, and step inside.
A waitress in a bright yellow dress greeted them, “Welcome to Fifty-Nine Diner! Table for four?”
“Mmhmm,” Madoka nodded, taking four menus.
The waitress led them to a nearby booth, “Here you go, guys! Can I start ya off with anything to drink?”
“Do you have anything with alcohol?” Vash asked her, taking a seat in the far right corner. Nicolas took a seat next to him.
“Sorry, Honey, we don’t serve alcohol here,” the waitress pulled out a yellow notepad out of her apron, “But could I offer you a milkshake?”
Vash frowned for a split second, before perking up at the offer of something sweet, “Oh! I’ll take a vanilla shake, with extra whipped cream and sprinkles!”
“What are you, six?” Nicolas rolled his eyes, “I’ll just take coffee, like an adult.”
“Only adults get extra sprinkles!” Vash countered, as his made a small tower out of the tiny dairy-free coffee creamers kept on every table.
“I’ll also take coffee,” Homura answered, cutting through their childish bickering.
“Strawberry shake for me,” Madoka said, as she idly looked at the menu options.
The waitress quickly wrote down the drink order, “I’ll get this put in right now for you! Let me know if you need anything in the meantime.” She spun on her heels, and briskly walked to the kitchen.
“Feel free to order anything you want!” Madoka smiled, “It’s the least I could do for the brave heroes who rescued my Homura.” Her smile faltered for a brief moment, but she seamlessly pulled it back to her previous cheer.
“There’s no need!” Vash waved his hands, “We can pay for our own meal, right Wolfwood?”
Nicolas glared at him, “Unless ya somehow pulled some secret double dollars I didn’t know about out of your ass, we absolutely can not. We’ve been deadass broke since the last time you wasted all our money, which was two days ago.”
Vash gave him a defeated pout, “You didn’t have to put it like that.”
“It’s fine, really!” Madoka insisted, “I would feel guilty if I didn’t pay for you!”
“In that case, I’ll get a stack of pancakes!” Vash smiled at her.
Nicolas shuddered at the thought of consuming that much sugar in a sitting, “I don’t know how ya can eat that.”
The waitress returned with their drinks, and took their orders: Madoka ordered French toast, Homura ordered an omelet, and Nicolas ordered a burger with bacon and a side of fries. “I’ll have this out to y’all in a jiffy,” she smiled at the quartet, and ran back to the kitchen.
“So,” Vash said, as he sipped on his milkshake, “How did the happy couple meet?”
“It’s really embarrassing,” Madoka laughed, “But it was because of a cat!”
“A cat?” Vash tilted his head, curious.
Madoka nodded, “Yep! There was a cat in the road, and a careless driver wasn’t looking, so Homura bravely ran after it!”
Homura blushed, looking sheepish, “Madoka saw me and pushed us all out of the way.”
“You’re lucky no one was injured!” Vash commented, and took a large drink of his shake.
“I broke my leg,” Homera admitted, “And Madoka had to carry me to the doctor.”
“Anyone would have done the same!” Madoka insisted, with the conviction of a kind person who sees the best in people. Nicolas knew far better than to expect help from others.
Homura took a sip from her coffee, “You shouldn’t downplay your own kindness.”
“I’m not downplaying, I just know I’m not anything special in that department,” Madoka’s face was flushed, and she hid her embarrassment by taking a long drink of her own shake, “Anyone would’ve done the same.”
“Does it matter?” Vash piped in, “Whether or not someone would’ve done the same doesn’t downplay that you did do something selfless and kind.”
“I guess,” Madoka looked down, and took another drink.
“How did you two meet?” Homura asked them, directing attention away from her clearly uncomfortable wife.
“Oh, that?” Vash laughed, “It’s a long story, and really not very interesting. I will let you know that Wolfwood here gave all his money to some orphans, though! He’s a really nice guy despite his face.”
“Hey, I don’t need yer defendin’,” Nicolas grumbled, “And there’s nothin’ wrong with my face!”
Before the blond gunman could respond, the waitress returned, hot food in tow.
The rest of their conversation was cheery, like old friends, despite only being briefly meeting, and likely never meeting again after this night. No one left a single piece of food on their plates, and so, with a somber smile, Madoka paid for their meals.
The two women stood to leave, and bade their farewells.
“Goodbye, Mr. Wolfwood and Mr. Vash! I can’t thank you enough for everything,” Madoka bowed.
“It was nothin’” Nicolas nodded, a bit embarrassed.
“I’m just glad we could help!” Vash waved at her.
“It was nice to meet you, Vash,” Homura nodded, and laced her hand with her the soft hand of her wife, “Keep him safe, Nicolas.”
“I’ll do my best,” Nicolas blushed at her comment, “You better stay alive, Braids.”
“I don’t die easily,” she winked at him, and the pair departed, leaving the men behind.
Later that evening, after finding themselves in a dingy bar, the two men embraced their bad habits. Seven drinks in, and Vash mumbled, face flushed with a mixture of curiosity and alcohol, “So, was what she said earlier, true?”
“What?” Nicolas responded, equally drunk.
“The thing, ya know, where she said you uh, prefer the company of men?”
“Jesus why did you have to say it like that?” Nicolas grumbled.
“Is it?” Vash asked him, again.
“Yeah,” Nicolas groaned, his drunk mind unable to think of anything to dance around the question with, “Yeah, it’s true.”
“Oh,” Vash twiddled his fingers together, “What’s your type then?”
“My what?” Nicolas stared at him.
“Type of guys. Like, who do you like?”
Nicolas thought for a moment, before answering, “Dumbass blonds.” He laid his head on the bar counter, and fell asleep.