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They're jolting along No Man's Land when the truck begins to sputter.
"Meryl," Roberto says, "did you charge it this morning?"
"Yes!" she snaps defensively. "It shouldn't be doing this!"
Roberto releases a long, slow sigh of exasperation. "That's a company vehicle for you. Cheap bastards." He takes another swig of his flask as Vash begins to stir in the backseat. "I think there's a plant station just off here. Anyone got double dollars?"
"Can't we just write it off as a company expense?"
"You're learning, newbie, but we actually need money to get reimbursed."
"I got some," Vash volunteers, pulling a fistful out of his pocket.
Roberto gives him a look. "Where was that last night when we all had to sleep in the truck?"
Vash smiles guiltily. "I heard there was a town nearby, and maybe they had doughnuts...?"
Roberto groans.
"Oh, stop it," Meryl scolds, turning the wheel, "like you wouldn't do the same. Your cigarettes are running low, aren't they?"
Roberto throws up his hands. "Damn it, newbie, fine. Everyone has to have some vices to get through the goddamn day. Pull over here."
The station is fairly deserted, so they have the pick of two battered-down pumps. Roberto mutters that he needs to recharge, and shuffles into the corner store in pursuit of snacks and smokes, while Vash feeds money into the meter. Meryl starts the pump and jabs it into the truck’s side, giving a sharp nod as the truck begins to recharge. Vash grins, leaning back against the pump, shielding his eyes as he gazes upwards. It’s a perfectly still, blue day, even if it’s sweltering, the sun a white disk in the distance.
"Do you hear that?" Meryl suddenly asks above the low humming of the charger.
Vash tilts his head, ears perking up. "Running water? All the way out here? Think this place also has a refill station? Can't hurt to have more water on us."
"There's some gallons in the back," Meryl begins, beginning to step away, but the pump begins to sputter. With a groan, she smacks the side repeatedly until the humming resumes. "Sorry, Vash, can you go see if there's an extra canister or two in the truck?"
"Gotcha!" Vash says and drags a metal container out with a clang. "Let me see what I can do!"
He heads towards the steady pitter-patter, whistling, lifting his head as tiny droplets mist over his face. They feel deliciously cool in this weather, and walking faster, he begins to daydream: if they're lucky, this place also has ice, and—
Vash’s mouth falls open as the canister tumbles to the ground with a loud clang.
There's indeed a refilling station, and next to it, a dented shower head for travelers to wash off the grit from the road. And underneath said shower head...
"Hey," a naked man says, without turning around, "mind ogling a bit more respectfully?"
Vash closes his mouth. "Uh..." he stutters. "Sorry! Didn't know anyone would be back here! Mind if I...?"
"Join me?" The man chuckles, flashing his canines as he looks over his shoulder, dark hair streaming across his forehead. "I doubt there's enough room, blondie."
Vash feels a heated flush shoot all the way up to his eyebrows. "No! Just…with... The drinking water!"
"Oh. Yeah." The man flicks his wrist dismissively. "Help yourself. I'm almost done anyway."
Vash gulps, picking the canister up with both hands and dragging it to the spout, determinedly looking at the ground as the man bends over to scrub his feet, a shade paler than his tanned skin. Rivulets run down his back, highlighting the sharp join of his shoulder blades, the rivulets of his spine, the muscle of his thighs—cheeks burning, Vash snaps his gaze away as the man raises his head in the midst of his scrubbing. Have some respect, Vash mentally scolds himself.
As the sound of water begins to hit the bottom of the canister with a satisfying echo, there's a creak of a handle, and then, a quick, indifferent rustle of cloth. Vash focuses on making sure the water doesn't bubble out as the man towels off his head, then scrunches the fabric into a ball, spot-patting all over his body. He has broad shoulders, Vash observes, and reminds himself to turn around. "Where are you headed?"
"Uhhhh..." Vash says.
"Just wandering? Me too." The stranger nods to the giant wrapped cross leaning on the side of the building. "Part of the trade."
"You're a priest?" Vash asks, trying to keep the squeak out of his voice.
"In a sense, but I’d describe myself as more of an undertaker." He whips the towel around his hips with a satisfied sigh, then extends his right arm. "Nicholas D. Wolfwood."
Vash finds himself shaking a still-dripping hand. "Vash the Stampede."
Wolfwood squeezes his fingers in response, then withdraws his grip almost painfully slowly. "Nice. By the way, got a cigarette on you? The damn shop doesn't have any smokes."
The water's finally getting close to the canister’s rim. "One of my friends does," Vash manages, relief bleeding into his voice. “But you’ll have to see; he’s awfully possessive of them.”
Wolfwood shakes his head, droplets flying everywhere, then reaches for a pile of dark clothes draped along a wooden bench. "Yeah? Lead the way once you're done, blondie. Just let me get dressed."
"…'Kay," Vash squeaks.
With a smirk, Wolfwood lifts one long leg and begins stepping into a pair of loose trousers, fabric clinging to the not-quite dry calves. "Water's overflowing, you know."
It is indeed. Flushing, Vash quickly turns the handle and caps the canister with slightly shaking hands, cursing.
"We shouldn't waste water in a place like this," Wolfwood drawls, unraveling his shirt with a flourish, shaking it out once, twice, before draping it around his body. "After all," he continues, slowly closing one button at a time with steady flicks of his fingers, Vash gaping at his chest, "it's a sin."
Vash swallows, mouth very dry. “Right.”
The undertaker slides into his jacket, stretching his arms up over his head with a satisfied groan; Vash hears a series of tiny cracks as he arches his back. “I got to tell you, blondie, it feels like heaven rinsing off all this dust. Water’s cold, but with this sun, I’m not complaining.” He flicks the towel to the ground, wiping his feet as he reaches for his shoes. “Sand gets everywhere, you know.”
“That’s the problem with the desert,” Vash says, lifting the canister, water sloshing, as Wolfwood unfolds a pair of shades from his jacket pocket. Pity, he finds himself thinking, because Wolfwood’s eyes are warmer than the sun; they shouldn’t be covered up like that.
Wolfwood throws a mischievous look at him, as if he can read every inch of Vash’s thoughts. “I’d normally ask if you want help, but I think you can handle yourself.” He slings the cross over his shoulder as easily as his towel, pushing his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose with his index finger. “Know what brand of smokes your friend has? I’m afraid I’m a bit of an addict for a certain kind.”
“I thought priests were supposed to stay away from that kind of stuff,” Vash retorts, trying to distract his mind from drifting to the slight sway of hips beside him. “The body is a temple and all that.”
Wolfwood gives out a low, throaty laugh. “Ah, but no one’s perfect.” From his jacket pocket, he pulls out a bottle and shakes it. “Speaking of…” With a quick twist and pop, he wraps his lips around the stem and takes a deep, long swig, then thrusts out the bottle in Vash’s direction. “Want some? I think the big book says something about being generous to travelers.”
“It’s bit early, but sure,” Vash says, turning, and finds the bottle’s mouth grazing his bottom lip, sweetness slipping over his tongue. He’s no stronger to indulging, yet he feels a certain lightness in the swing of his arms, a twist in his belly, as he drinks deeply, the burn settling pleasantly in his chest.
Wolfwood meets his eyes, a faint smile on his lips as he pulls back. “Good, huh?”
“Good,” Vash echoes. He sees Meryl in the distance, putting the pump back, and his steps quicken, waving foolishly like he’s trying to flag down a ride.
Meryl waves back, then stares up at Wolfwood, who’s sliding the bottle back into his jacket. “Who’s he?”
“He’s,” Vash begins, as Roberto appears in the corner of his eye, wiping his hands on his pants before leveling a frown at the stranger.
“No one’s here, but the facilities work at least if anyone doesn’t want to piss in the sand today. Who’s this?”
“Nicholas D. Wolfwood,” Wolfwood greets, not offering his hand but giving Roberto a sharp nod. “Blondie here was kind enough to offer up your cigarettes.”
Roberto quirks an eyebrow at Vash.
“Just one?” Vash ventures, with a weak smile.
“I have a light here if it matters,” Wolfwood says, flipping a silver rectangle between his fingers.
Roberto gives him, then Vash, another lengthy stare before begrudgingly reaching into his coat, as Vash hauls the canister towards the truck, grateful for the distraction, Meryl moving aside a rickety camera tripod and a duffel bag to make room. He feels the weight of intent eyes lingering on his backside as he pushes the canister in further, then hears, “Mind if I hitch a ride with you to wherever you’re going? Looks like that truck of yours fits four.”
“We don’t even—” Meryl begins.
“Aw, come on,” Wolfwood wheedles, “I’m just a humble priest. I think you can take me.” His gaze lands on Vash, burning through his sunglasses. “What do you think, blondie?”
Vash reaches up to rub his head, glancing at Meryl pleadingly. “I mean, it is awfully hot…”
Roberto snorts.
With a satisfied grunt, Wolfwood slaps Vash on the back, touch lingering again for a few moments before his hand drops to his side. “Thank you for your hospitality. It’s hard to find generosity in this climate, wouldn’t you agree?” Without looking back, he heads for the backseat, ignoring Meryl’s irritable muttering, and pushes open the door with ease. “Coming?”
Vash follows, as Meryl climbs into the driver’s seat, Roberto unscrewing his flask as he shuts the door behind him. He’s hyper-aware of the body beside him, elbows touching, as Wolfwood turns to him with a grin. “Comfortable, blondie?”
“Stop callin’ me that,” Vash manages.
Wolfwood reaches out, tugging at the ends of Vash’s hair with one, smooth yank. “Okay, then. Spikey suits you much better, anyway.”
As Vash sputters, the engine turns over, and they’re off bouncing along the sand, as a figure in the distant dunes smiles.