Ice Blue  
He had a scar, small, circular, white, on his thigh. The rest of his body was perfect, unmarred. He was pale and unconscious, a killer of men, women, and children indiscriminately, a god and a devil, and the twin of the man she loved.

Of course he had other marks now, both thighs, his arms, his shoulders… Vash had placed the shots perfectly. Destructive, but not irreparable.

But she wasn’t sure why he was unconscious.

When Vash had been unconscious those ten days after he had killed Legato, she had been sure the emotional stress had caused that more than his physical wounds. Was it that Knives had suffered some emotional blow? Had his brother shooting him been too much for him?

She sighed and settled back in her chair, knitting. It made her feel like an old woman, but they would need warmer clothes soon. It wasn’t that there was a specific “winter” here, as she had heard tales of, but there was a time of the year during which even in the daytime it was colder, when they drifted in their very elliptical orbit away from the sun. Her mother had explained to her that the two suns were fairly close together, but not too close, so that their gravity did not smash them together. The suns went around each other in a fairly consistent circle, and their planet went around these suns in a shape like an egg or a drop of water. The orbit widened as it got nearer the suns, and narrowed as it was further away at the other end. She hadn’t fully understood it, but had passed the tests well enough in school.

She had finished Milly’s sweater. It was a light blue color, like sky. Meryl hoped it would bring out the girl’s eyes. She had the potential to be so pretty, but had never striven for that. Though Meryl hesitated to do anything outright – she wasn’t sure if Milly wanted to be with anyone after the priest – she could be sneaky in subtle ways like this without reproach.

She was working on Vash’s now.

Funny how with Milly’s sweater, she had been very careful. She loved her friend and wanted the best for her.

But making this sweater now… she was tender.

She counted. Another row. The needles glinted in the bright light from the suns outside. The sweater was red. He looked good in red. It was how she remembered him.

Next would be Knives’. That would be blue as well, dark blue, with light blue stripes to use up the rest of the thread from Milly’s. She hadn’t bought any yarn for herself yet. She expected it to be a haphazard amalgamation of blues and red.

How long had it been since she had been sitting here, alone but for the soft breathing of the quiet blond plant in the bed beside her? Months? Years? Eons?

But after the suns went down, Vash and Milly would be back, and she would cook for them while Vash checked on his brother. When she was done, he would return to the kitchen, watching her eat like a vigilant mother, and say something like, “Only five days with you and already he looks better.”

She sighed. Only five days, this being the fifth. If he didn’t wake up soon, she would stab him with her knitting needles.

Her eyes lowered to his face. It was strange. He and Vash had the exact same features, except that Vash had a small mole and slightly darker hair. She wondered if he had the same color eyes as Vash when they flickered open and froze on her.

They were ice blue.

She did not jump, despite being startled, and simply set her knitting (stitch forty-five, she reminded herself inwardly) down on the floor beside her. She remained where she was. “Hello,” she greeted hesitantly, testing the waters.

His face twisted into a scowl, and she vaguely contemplated whether Vash could do that too. His eyes held a flavor of hatred and disgust she had never seen before. “What have you done with Vash?” he hissed between tight lips.

Admittedly, she was somewhat afraid. This man had wanted to cause ultimate suffering to Vash. Killing her wouldn’t do the trick, but it probably couldn’t hurt. “He’s out working,” she replied, her voice a thick façade of calm. “Someone has to pay for rent and food while you sleep.”

Lips curled in a mocking sneer. “So I could kill you right now. And the whole town.”

She shrugged and picked up her knitting again. “You could, I suppose. If you could move.”

Ah, she had called his bluff. He growled, loudly, wordlessly.

“Are you hungry?” she offered, trying to remember what number (forty-five? fifty-four?) she had left off at. She didn’t want to have to recount a whole row.

He didn’t answer, but glared at her, raw hate in his eyes.

She glanced back up at him, giving up on the knitting for a moment. “Well, I’m going to get some lunch. I expect Vash-san will be bringing home doughnuts again tonight, so I’d better grab a healthy snack. Do you like fruit? Or do you want a drink?”

Again, he held his frozen silence.

She stood, exited just as silently, and returned with two glasses of water and an apple. Biting into the latter, she set the glasses down on the table near her.

“Would you like water, Knives-san? Or do you have any particular favorite foods?” The apple was delicious.

“Filthy human,” he spat, and then wiggled slowly over until he was on his side, facing away from her.

The rest of the afternoon, despite her queries, requests, or gentle reprimands, he would not speak or respond to her. She had to content herself with knitting red. And red. And red.