Disclaimer: Trigun and its characters belong to Mr. Nightow and I am in no way making any profit from this story. This is entirely for my enjoyment. Thank you.

Author's Notes: I used the word "Tongari", instead of "Needle-noggin", since that isn't entirely what it translates into and it is a mere personal preference of mine. Thanks.

Give and Take

by Quatrina Raberba

He's smiling at me. Again.

I hate it when he does that. Seriously. Does he really take me for some fool? The way he plasters that goofy grin on his face almost disturbs me sometimes. And even then, it still seems like I'm the only on who notices.

Stop acting stupid, Tongari -- you know you can't fool me with that cheap imitation of a smile. You might be able to trick our waitress or the insurance girls, but I know better. And you should know that, too.

He's stopped smiling by now and he's giving me this look that makes me wonder if I said that last bit out loud. I'm pretty sure I didn't, though. But I don't care, really, since every bit of it was the truth. He doesn't smile again, but instead he's regarding me with this thoughtful look. I don't say anything to him and he doesn't say anything to me.

We've been seated in this dingy restaurant for about 5 minutes and we've barely said two words to each other. He said, "Excuse me" and I just kind of gave this shrug. He'd bumped into me on the way through the door, but to be honest, I didn't really care.

Sometimes, when we eat together, we hardly say anything at all -- like right now. Other times, we talk about pointless stuff. The weather, the food, the cute waitress at the next table -- you know, stuff like that. But every once on a blue moon, we talk. I mean really talk. Well, actually, he talks and I listen. But the mood has to be just right and a certain amount of alcohol has to have been consumed before either of us loosen up any. It's usually dark outside when we have these talks and we're always alone.

He'll usually have something eating at him, something weighing on his chest, when we talk. Seems kind of appropriate since I like to call myself a priest. I think that's crossed his mind before, too. Sometimes I'll have something to say, but it's usually for his benefit. You know, something to put his mind at rest so he won't lie awake at night agonizing over anything. I hate it when he does that...

Once, he tried getting me to talk a little more about myself, but I made it clear (without actually saying so) that I wasn't going to tell him anymore than he all ready knew. He got the hint, I guess, because he didn't pursue the issue after that. I caught him giving me this sad look, though. I figure he knows stuff about me...or suspects. Wonders at the very least, I'm sure.

Right now, we're still not talking any. But it's not uncomfortable -- at least, I don't think it is, because I like it. I guess he does too, because he's not saying anything. So neither do I.

Suddenly, the waitress's perky voice reaches us and he turns to her, his goofy smile melting across his face like that nasty fake butter -- cheap and nothing at all like the real thing. I hate it when he smiles at me like that, because I feel like we're both being cheated out of something good. But when he does it to other people, it's not as bad, I guess. They can't tell the difference between what's fake and what's not, because they've never had the real stuff before.

The waitress giggles at him and I suppress a grimace. She's blonde, like he is, but her eyes aren't as expressive as his. He says some cheesy pick up line -- one of the oldest in the book, actually -- and she giggles again, fighting back a blush and failing miserably.

After regaining her composure, she asks us what we'd like. That Tongari says something about spaghetti and meatballs and I say I'll have the same thing. And I ask for whiskey, too. Can't forget that...

She writes down whatever waitresses usually write down and bustles off, giving us one more backward glance. Tongari winks at her and she bursts into another fit of annoying giggles and dashes into the back.

My attention turns back to him, and to my surprise, his is all ready turned to me. He doesn't smile, for which I'm grateful, but he does offer me a piece of complimentary bread. I accept some and take a bite. It's hard and stale and tastes like overall crap. I tell him so, even though we both know it'll taste the same either way. Still, he gives a kind of half-hearted shrug as he eats his own bread. But I do notice that he's chewing his awfully funny.

The waitress comes back and in her own little perky way, tells us our food will be here soon. Personally, I think she just wanted some excuse to see Tongari again, because she sets down two glasses of juice. When I point out that we didn't order any juice, she explains that it's "on the house". Even so, Tongari thanks her in an overly friendly way and the girl goes beet red and scampers back to where she came from.

Tongari's been overly flirtatious tonight -- but this time I have a hunch that he's acting that way for my amusement more than anything else. His eyes don't linger after her when she leaves, nor does he comment on her at all when she's gone. Instead, he grins sheepishly at me and takes a sip of his juice. He may flirt a lot, but he never struck me as a serious playboy or anything. More like a lone fisherman baiting a hook to see if he gets a nibble or a bite. That's why I don't find him flirting nearly as amusing as the way he chews that crap-like tasting bread.

He's lonely. And if he feels like I'll think that's funny, he's got more issues than I thought.

"What's wrong?"

I look at him to see his concerned face and I wonder if my own face could have possibly told him what I was thinking. Perhaps I've been traveling with him too long.

Realizing that he expects me to answer, I snort. "Just wondering if you're going to leave me with the check again."

He gives a mock look of hurt. "I haven't done that in a long time! Why do you think the worst of me, dearest Wolfwood?"

I snort again, shaking my head. He kind of had a point, actually.

"But you're omitting the fact that I usually make you promise not to leave me with the check before hand."

I had a point, too. You see it wasn't very long before I realized that Tongari was a man of his word and if I could get him to promise me something, he would always come through. Granted, getting him to actually promise me something could be challenging, but once he gave me his word, I was satisfied in knowing he wouldn't break it.


I'm also satisfied in seeing that he has no come back to his and is left to sip hopelessly at his juice while he thinks for something to say. After a moment, he sets down his almost empty glass and laughs. "I guess you're right!"

"Of course I'm right," I answered with what I'm sure is a smug look. "After all, I'm not a Tongari like you."

He suddenly becomes indignant, but before he can come out with his retort, that annoying waitress comes back to our table and sets down steaming plates of spaghetti in front of us. He thanks her, but she looks like she's disappointed in his lack of a flirty mood. She leaves without another look.

We both eat in silence, but he's still maintaining that indignant air about him. He's acting childish, really, considering my remark wasn't that serious.

Well, not entirely serious at least.

Really, I can't help feeling a little bad, if only a tinge. I mean, the guy does pay for my meal sometimes; I'll give him that. It'll be real subtle, sometimes to the point where I'll even have my money out only to find that there's nothing to pay for.

Most people would protest, and sometimes I have a good mind to. But then I figure a free meal is actually a pretty good deal, so I don't complain. In fact, I don't ever say anything when he pays. And neither does he.

Sheesh -- I'm all ready done with my food. Plate's bare and all. I didn't even pay attention to how it tasted this time -- I guess I was too hungry to.

"Was it good?" I ask him instead.

"Not really," he admits. "Kind of tasted like sand."

"Not surprising. Everything tastes like sand around here."

His indignation forgotten, he agrees, giving me that fake butter smile of his. Damn him.

A new waitress comes this time -- this one is larger and maybe less attractive than our other one, but she's definitely less annoying. She asks us if we want our bill. Tongari turns his smile to her and gives a sudden, happy sounding, "Sure!" She nods and leaves.

He's eyeing my juice now, I can tell. I offer it to him and he takes it, drinking it down in almost one gulp, for which I'm thankful. Even the sight of juice makes me a little sick -- drank it too much as a kid, I guess. "But you don't want some whiskey?" I had just noticed it on the table.

I pour him a shot, because I know what his answer will be. Before I know it, though, he's all ready asking for more.

The big waitress comes back with our bill, setting it on the table for us both to see. We look at what we owe, but Tongari isn't fast enough, because by the time he's pulled out his share, I've paid for both of us all ready. Tongari looks up at me sharply, his mouth opened as if to say, "You don't need to do that." But again, he's too slow. The waitress is gone with the money.

And then it happens.

He smiles. Really smiles.

It starts from his eyes – like I said before, they're very expressive. They glisten almost, with a kind of unspoken happiness, and then his face muscles lightly twitch as a prelude of what he's about to do. And then his lips curve into his wholesome smile – like pure tasting butter being spread onto good bread.

This isn't some cheap imitation, folks. It's the real deal.

He's still smiling a bit as he finishes off his whiskey. So am I.

We're quiet for several long, easygoing moments. Finally, though, he gets up from his chair and stretches. "I'm tired!"

I get up too, since there's really no reason for us to stay.

Evidently, he's a little tipsy from the alcohol because he stumbles a bit. I catch him with one arm and his own arm slips around me in an attempt to support himself. There're still traces of his smile on his face. It's in his eyes, you see.

It's then we make out way out of that nasty restaurant. We're slow, but he's tipsy, our arms are draped around each other, and I like taking my time.

You see, Tongari and I have this game we like to play. It's called Give and Take. But he's not saying anything. And you know what? Neither will I.

It's more fun that way.

~FIN~

Author's Notes: This is my first Trigun fanfiction and my first real attempt at writing in the present tense. So, while feedback is always appreciated, I would especially like to hear from you to see how it was and for any suggestions. Thanks.