Trigun Fan Fiction ❯ After the Fall ❯ Open Your Eyes ( Chapter 3 )

Title:After the Fall
Author:
Timeline:(a few days after Vash returns to the girls with Knives in tow), with a manga topping
Pairings:Millie/Wolfwood, Knives/wouldn't-you-like-to-know
Genre:Perhaps mildly Hentai in later chapters
Rating:I've reduced the rating because I'm realizing that this story is not going to be as wildly controversial as I anticipated. (Plus, I blatantly just want more hits) I'll let you know if anything threatens to offend your delicate sensibilities.
Archive:contact me for permission.
Disclaimer:its characters and universe, are the intellectual property of their respective owners. I am merely borrowing for entertainment purposes. I make no claims of ownership, nor do I profit from my storytelling.
Summary: becoming apparent that Vash didn't have much of a plan as to how he was going to save Knives, apart from kicking his ass and lugging him back to the insurance girls. Hmm... maybe he should have kept that gun. Speaking of insurance girls, he didn't really have a plan for what he was going to do about Meryl, either. Oh, I'm sure it will all work out. I mean, all he has to do is reform his genocidal sociopathic twin, sort out his feelings for Meryl, save humanity, save the plants, and live happily ever after by the credo of Love and Peace... yeah, right.

A/N: Two betas? How does a girl get so lucky? Sugar Pill was kind enough to grace this little project with her literary prowess. If you like this story, you'll love her stuff. Why? Because she's awesome: The ease of Salinger meets the succinctness of Steinbeck- in easily digestible fanfiction form. Plus, she's funny. Again, thank you to Alaena Night who is intelligent, talented, and freaking adorable.
Additionallyaccording to my brief and arbitrary calculations, three point zero-six-nine percent of readers are reviewing. This is unacceptable and saddens me a great deal. If you're not reviewing you should give it a try. I'll probably send you a nice thank you note, or a toy surprise like at the dentist. To those who are reviewing: we'll all get together later and you can draw straws to see who gets my first-born.

Chapter 3: Open Your Eyes


What was it about a mild hangover that made oatmeal and tomato juice so enjoyable?

Millie's middle big brother had introduced her to the miraculous combination the morning after her fifteenth birthday. Sure, she was young, but it wasn't like she'd never had a drink before. Her parents were furious. They believed that children should be raised with certain restrictions and guidelines, for their own protection. Of course, Millie had six older siblings to pave the way for her future debauchery. By the time it was her turn to be a teenager, her parents were a little worn out. Slipping her sloe-gin fizzes at her birthday barbecue had been a step too far however. None of her siblings would escape unscathed. Except, maybe, her big big sister, Olivia, who'd been against it from the start.

Oh yes, oatmeal and tomato juice. With a little tobasco in the juice and a little sugar on the oats. Funny, how no one besides her and her middle big brother seemed to like it. She thought it couldn't be more perfect after a night of drinking. “Don't you agree, Pedro-kun?”

Pedro's big glass eyes stared unblinkingly from his position across the table from her. She'd lugged him downstairs after she'd heard Meryl leave. She'd heard Sempai getting dressed, but upon looking at the clock and discovering the hour, Millie opted to roll over and go back to sleep. It wasn't longer than a few minutes later that she heard the front door close, followed shortly afterward by Vash's heavier feet on the stairs.

Groaning, she had risen from her deliciously warm sheets so that she could go speak with Mr. Vash in the kitchen downstairs. He was leaving. She wasn't sure how she knew. She just did. He got this funny feeling about him whenever he was getting ready to go. She didn't bother to change out of her pajamas, she just grabbed Pedro as an afterthought, and headed down to meet him.

“Good morning, Mr. Vash,” she'd said.

“Hey!” His smile had been brighter when he'd seen the sight of her balancing Pedro on her shoulder. “Didn't think you'd be up this early, but I'm glad because I gotta talk to you.”

She'd let him take her stuffed friend and seat him in one of the chairs at the kitchen table. “I have to leave for a few days,” he'd begun.

“Yeah, I figured. Don't worry, Mr. Vash. Now that the well is finished I've been offered a job working irrigation. I can ask the foreman for an early shift, so with Meryl working at night, one of us will always be here with Mr. Knives. Just don't take too long because I really hate getting up early.”

Vash had looked shocked and kind of dumb. Well, she figured, he'd probably been working on how he was going to tell her and here she'd gone and figured it out on her own. “You don't mind?” he'd asked.

“Of course not, silly. Whatever Sempai and I can do to help, we will, okay?” she'd stated simply, then added, “I'm gonna make some tomato juice and oatmeal, want some?”

Obviously, Mr. Vash was not the man of taste she'd hoped him to be, because he made a sour face before masking it with a smile. “No, that's okay, but thanks! I'm gonna run out and pick some stuff up. If Meryl gets back before I do, would you tell her I'll be back before I leave?”

“I sure will. But I have to tell you,” she'd started crossly, “I heard her sniffling when she came in last night, and if you keep making Sempai cry, it's going to be hard to keep forgiving you. You know how Meryl hates to cry.”

“Why do you think I had anything to do with her crying?” He'd had the decency to look contrite.

“Because you always have something to do with her crying.”

“Well!” He'd pointed to his faintly bruised cheek. “She hit me!”

“Gee, Mr. Vash! Why would Sempai go and do something like that?”

“Because she's insane?”

Millie had thought on that statement for a moment. “Well, yes. But I doubt that's why she hit you.”

He had shrugged noncommittally, and Millie had sent him out the door, extracting a promise that he would return with eggs and canned pudding.

That had been about a half an hour ago, and Millie had spent the time enjoying a leisurely breakfast. Neither Vash nor Meryl had yet returned.

She worried about Meryl. Wondered how she was taking the news of Vash's impending departure. If history was any indication, it wasn't well. Millie had once had a real puppy named Pedro. A ferocious looking wolfhound that stood as tall as her hip, with a head the size of a watermelon and a disposition more mild than a kitten. She'd rescued him from the Dickerson boys, who'd beaten him with a stick. She'd nursed the animal back to health. When he'd recovered, she kept him tied to a length of rope, noting how he looked off longingly into the distance. She didn't want him to run away and never come back.

Olivia had told her to set him free. “If he loves you,” she advised, “he'll always return.”

Millie had released him, tearfully watching as he raced away, but smiling at how free and powerful the animal had looked. Sure enough, he was back in a few hours. That dog stayed by her side, slept at the foot of her bed, until the day he died.

It was sad that Sempai had never learned this lesson. Mr. Vash had left more times than she could count, but the fact that he always found his way back to them was proof enough to Millie of his devotion. The insurance girls were special to him. She wished Meryl could see what was so clear.

Milliehad grown up on her family's farm outside the city of September. She could have stayed working there for the rest of her days, and that's exactly what she told the Bernardelli recruiter she planned to do. Her father had stepped in. “You're very special, Millie. The grades you get in school? I could barely get by back in my day. Never even finished. But you? You're something else. You've got something special to share with the world.”

So Millie had gotten in touch with the recruiter and told him she'd changed her mind. Oliva, who'd been traveling since before Millie could remember, had some parting words of advice, “The world out there can be very cruel, Millie,” she'd said, “but it can also be so beautiful, it would break your heart. Take the bad with the good, always forgive, and you'll be better off than you know.”

Millie had arrived in the city of December and worked her way up from the bottom. Her adaptability and resourcefulness, combined with her accommodating disposition, made her an ideal candidate for fieldwork. Her first assignment? The new junior assistant to Meryl Stryfe. 'Derringer' Meryl. A woman whose reputation preceded her. She was young, but more accomplished than some nearly twice her age. A luminary in the field of risk prevention. She demanded nothing but the best from herself and those around her. She'd been through five junior assistants in the past six months. Two had cried, one a young man seven years her senior.

Millie introduced herself with an eye-eating smile. “Hello, ma'am! I'm Millie Thompson, your new partner, and I'm just sure we're going to have the best time together!”

Meryl had dispassionately examined Millie's goofy expression and outstretched hand. “Let's hope, for both our sakes, that you're not as spineless and incompetent as the rest of the idiots they keep sending me.”

From that point on, they were together everyday. Meryl had softened once she realized that her new junior partner was neither incompetent nor spineless. Millie discovered that she greatly admired her new boss and budding friend. She was strong, determined, and focused. She was fearless when the situation called for it, and she never gave up. Millie came to know, intuitively, that Meryl did this job for the same reason she did: to help people. She saw it in the way Meryl always worked to make sure a client's claim was paid. She never made someone cut through the red tape on their own. Sure, it was supposed to be their job to save the company money, but Meryl's priority was helping people protect the dreams invested in their property. She understood her work to be more important than a damaged home or ruined business. These were the efforts and hopes of ordinary people.

This was the only clue Millie had to her Sempai's true nature. She was otherwise perfectly reserved and professional. She smiled pleasantly when required, her face most often a perfect, socially appropriate void. And she never cried.

Until, of course, the duo got their biggest assignment ever: Vash the Stampede. That man had been wreaking havoc on Sempai's calm exterior (not to mention her emotional interior) since practically the day they'd met.

Vash. Millie smiled at the thought of him. Of all the dangerous outlaws she'd ever met, Mr. Vash was, by far, her absolute favorite. He reminded her of her little big brother, Vince. Being the two youngest, Millie and Vince were close. Her brother was a bit of a tough guy. Being the youngest boy in a big family will do that to a person. But Millie could remember late summers, running around in the early evening, helping Vince carefully free fireflies that had strayed too close to a spider's web. She smiled again as she thought of her brother's large fingers, nimbly releasing a glowing bug, barely disrupting the web that trapped it.

Vince, of course, knew all about Mr. Vash and Sempai. Her whole family did. She'd heard there was a bet going on between her brothers and little big sister as to who would break first. Even Mom was in on it; her money was on Vash. Vince had written her a letter not so long ago. “What's the matter with this guy?” he'd asked. “Lean in, part your lips, kiss the girl! Simple!” This from a man whose fiancé had to pop him the question.

That reminded Millie: she should really send another letter back home. Everyone was extra worried about her since she'd told them what had happened to Wolfwood. Of course, she spared the details of the exact nature of her relationship with the ill-fated priest. That information had been saved for a lengthy letter she'd sent directly to Olivia. Though mail was known to be unreliable, especially given the wandering nature of Millie's job, Olivia's response had been swift. She received the telegram on the second day she was in their current home:

I'm so sorry my darling (STOP) You shouldn't have learned how unjust the world can be in this way (STOP) But you did the right thing (STOP) Your heart will both thank and hate you for that night for as long as you live (STOP) I love you dearly (STOP) (POST SCRIPT) Mom wants you to come home (STOP) Don't you dare (END)

As always, Olivia was more correct than she could possibly know. That heaving, beating organ in her chest threatened to absorb her in agony and joy each time she dared remember. What his skin felt like. How he tasted. The words soft in her ear. The way he'd looked at her.

“I'm home! Anyone awake?” Meryl startled her so badly that she dropped her tomato juice right into her oatmeal.

“Oh, sugar!” Millie swore. She grabbed a napkin to mop up the spreading mess.

“Sorry, Millie!”

The front door opened again as Vash walked in. “What'd you do now, short girl?”

Meryl opened her mouth to respond (angrily, Millie was sure) but something Vash was holding stopped her. He had a paper bag, similar to the one Meryl was holding, and even from where she was sitting, Millie could smell coffee. Really good coffee. Meryl leaned closer to the bag and took a deep breath in through her nose. On the exhale she asked, “What's that?”

“A peace offering.” Vash eyed the bag Meryl held with equal interest. “What's that?”

“Peace offering.” Meryl smiled wryly and handed him a bag that must have held at least three dozen fresh donuts.

“God-dess!” Vash exclaimed, enunciating each syllable. “I forgive you completely!”

Meryl bristled. “Forgive me? You jackass...” The steaming paper cup he thrust into her hands cut short her most recent contumely. Her indignance forgotten, Meryl took a sip and sighed contentedly. “Mmm. This is amazing. Where'd you get it?”

“I went to the grocer to get some supplies and he showed me all this stuff he picked up from the traveling merchants.” There was nothing like new wealth to draw in the traders who dealt in luxury goods. With the festival yesterday, the town had been full of such retailers. “So I saw this fancy coffee, and he was nice enough to brew some up for me.”

“Maybe he feels guilty for standing idly by while you were dragged behind a moving vehicle.” Vash's face fell, and Meryl looked away. “Sorry.”

Millie understood Meryl. She had a hard time forgiving people. Mr. Jacobs, the grocer, had been one of the townspeople who'd looked on with satisfaction as their friend was nearly killed. Of course, Millie understood Mr. Jacobs as well. The Vash he saw wasn't their Vash, the kind and wonderful person they both loved so dearly, he was 'Vash the Stampede'. And 'Vash the Stampede' was a heartless murderer who, in Mr. Jacobs' eyes, deserved death and worse.

“I think it says a lot about the people of this town that they're kind to me at all. They've been very generous.”

“I'll be sure to send a card expressing my eternal gratitude for sparing your life.” Meryl's sarcasm had a sorrowful edge, like maybe she was a little grateful to the man who'd chosen not to shoot Vash dead as he lay in the sand.

Millie decided a change of subject was in order. “What else did you get at the store, Mr. Vash?”

“Oh!” Vash said, remembering something. “I got eggs and pudding. And, I got you some orange juice. It's fresh, see?”

“Wow, thanks!” Millie took a swallow of the juice, more pulp than liquid. It reminded her of home. “This is great. You are my favorite!”

“Your favorite what?” He seemed confused.

“My favorite dangerous outlaw I've ever met!” she supplied.

“Thanks, tall girl. That's quite a compliment.”

“You're very welcome. It's true, you know.”

Vash gave her an adoring smile. Much like the way Vince smiled at her when she was being cute. He retrieved a dallon of water from the groceries and put it into his duffel along with a few other supplies. “I'm gonna get changed and then I'll head out.”

When Vash had bounded up the stairs, and they could hear him shuffling around above their heads, Meryl asked if she could move Pedro to the floor. Millie told her that she didn't think he'd mind, and soon Meryl was sitting in his recently vacated chair. A few minutes later Vash was back, dressed from head to toe in his body armor, the close-fitting outfit that had more buckles and snaps than could really be necessary. In place of his red duster was an ordinary khaki one, but with the hair and the sunglasses, they could almost pretend they were looking at the Humanoid Typhoon.

“Bye, insurance girls! Miss me while I'm gone!”

“Bye, Mr. Vash! Have fun and be careful!”

He smiled and tossed his duffel over his shoulder, heading out the front door.

“Hey, broomhead! Try not to blow anything up or get shot, huh?”

“Yes, Meryl!” he called over his shoulder.

“I mean it, Vash!”

“Scout's honor!” he held two fingers over his parting head, and disappeared from view.

<><><><><><><>< ><><><><>

So, the idiot was leaving the village. Knives couldn't have asked for a better opportunity. He was still so damned weak though! After Vash had left that morning, he'd tried to open his eyes. The light had been blinding, painful. It was a few minutes before he could properly take in his surroundings. Shit-hole. Dogs were kenneled better than this. It took twenty long minutes before he was able to coax a wiggle from his fingertips. And the results still weren't in on his toes.

Still, he could feel his strength returning. Especially now that he didn't have to expend energy deflecting Vash's clumsy mental probes. Perhaps, in a few days, he'd be well enough to... what? He had to get out of here. That much was apparent. But there was no way he'd be able to stand, let alone walk, before his brother returned. With reinforcements.

No, he had to be gone before Vash got back.

The room blinked into darkness as his heavy eyelids fluttered shut. He was so tired again. He'd give himself two days to rest, and then... something.

<><><><><><><> ;<><><>

Millie was still up when Meryl got home from work. It was strange. Her partner had gotten up before dawn, her first day at her new job. Meryl had been certain she'd be exhausted, and asleep long before the bar closed. But there she was, up and even energetic, her hair still damp from a shower, waiting for her.

“How was work?” Millie greeted her.

“It was okay. What are you still doing awake?”

“I thought you'd want to talk.”
Meryl unwrapped her cloak and threw it over a chair. “What about?”

“Why'd you hit Mr. Vash the other night? And why were you crying?”

Meryl sighed. “Oh, that.”

Millie waited patiently for her to expound the subject. Meryl noted she was drinking tea, and that there was an extra mug on her side of the table. Ambushed. “We had a... misunderstanding.”

“Wow. Must have been one heck of a misunderstanding. Why'd you hit him though?”

“I'm insane?” Meryl offered.

Millie considered this theory for the second time. “Yes. But, I'm still saying that's not why you hit him. And you must have hit him pretty hard. Mr. Vash doesn't bruise that easily.”

“He had a bruise?” Meryl felt unspeakably guilty as her friend nodded. “I didn't notice.”

Millie waited in patient silence once more, smiling gently. So understanding. Compassionate. “I guess I just got scared and overreacted.”

“What were you scared of, Meryl?” She used her real name. Not 'Sempai', or another of her usual formal terms. Millie was serious, and Meryl was in trouble. Would it really be so bad? To talk about it? If anyone was going to understand, it would be Millie.

Meryl took a deep breath and poured herself a cup of tea. She could already feel the tears forming, making her nose stuffy and choking her throat. “Millie, I want to tell you something. But I'm so... I'm so afraid.”

Millie's features tightened in concern. She reached across the table and firmly gripped Meryl's hand. “But why?”

Meryl leaned forward so that her hair hid her eyes. Her tears, with no resistance, made small growing dots as they fell on her friend's sleeve. Stop it, damn it! Stop crying! “I don't know what you'd think of me.”

“Oh Meryl!” Millie came around the table, putting her arms around her narrow shoulders. “I love you, Meryl. Your my best friend in the world! Nothing you could tell me would change that.”

Meryl looked up into Millie's topaz eyes, so full of warmth despite their cool shade, and found that she believed her. And if Millie could forgive her, then maybe she'd forgive herself. She took a deep, steadying breath, and did the bravest thing she could think of. “When I was seventeen... I fell in love...”

<><><><><><>< ;><>

It had been two days since he'd left his brother in the insurance girls' care. Two days of walking through sand so deep it made his legs fight for every step. Sunshine so oppressive he thought it would burn a hole through the top of his head. Nights so cold his sweat-soaked body shivered, until the only thing he could hear was the clatter of his teeth.

Damn, but he missed that red coat. The one that was heat and cold resistant. The one that kept the sand from working into his body armor until he wanted to tear off his skin. Seemed like a good idea to leave it at the time. Poetic even. Thank goodness he was able to hitch a ride part of the way with that toma truck. The driver had been a real nice lady. And, at last, his destination had been reached.

Carcasses. And not a minute too soon. He'd licked the last drop of water from the mouth of his canteen about five iles ago. And with the midday suns beating down without apology, he had been starting to feel a bit dizzy. He made his way through the center of the still abandoned town, gratefully keeping to the shade of empty buildings. The monument still bore his twin's name scrawled in red. The bullet hole above the 'i' was right where he left it. Will people ever return here, or did Knives manage to taint the very ground it was built on?

Vash made the turns down streets that would lead him to the plant. When he arrived, he took a moment to refill his canteen with clean, flat plant water. He approached the surface of the bulb, removing several items from his duffel. He hesitated before stretching his fingers against the glass, laying his forehead on the cool surface. He felt a sudden rush of fear. I mean, what are the chances it actually worked?

<><><><><><><><><>

Heaven was not at all what Nicholas Wolfwood had been expecting. First off, he hadn't been expecting heaven at all. He'd no right to ask for forgiveness, and a moment of clarity before death shouldn't have changed that. Yet here he was, suspended in perfection, held in the arms of an angel. There was no fear, no hatred. Time didn't exist, and he was overcome by a sense of rightness in the world.

He floated, as if pleasantly drugged, into eternity. It seemed almost like it had always been this way. As if the events of his life were nothing but a distant dream, the details fading upon waking. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a truly conscious thought, which is perhaps, why it was so jarring when he did. Vash? He felt him like a sudden aura, like one would experience a particularly pleasant smell. Wondered how long it would be before you got yourself killed too.

Wolfwood had once theorized that the happiest and safest time in anyone's life was spent in utero. What a terrible fate to be ripped from the womb, to live out a violent existence in open air. He was about to experience it for the second time.

Vash accepted the priest body from his sister's arms. He steadied the familiar form as it coughed and retched fluid from its lungs. “Wolfwood, you okay? Can you hear me? It's me. Vash.”

The slate-blue eyes that he recognized as Wolfwood's stared hard into his face. His hair was a little longer than Vash remembered, and was plastered wetly across his forehead. Vash could tell that he was horribly confused. His eyes gave up on Vash's face and started flashing around the room, trying to make sense of what they saw. Finally, his his head came back around, and as he looked at Vash his brows finally knit in recognition. “Spiky?” He blinked a few more times as his mind caught up with his eyes. “I'm not dead, am I?”

Vash let out a joyful sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and threw his arms around his friend, openly crying. He embraced him tightly, gratefully, heedless to the fact that his friend was naked and soaking wet.

The recovery of Wolfwood's senses was gaining speed. “Goddammit, Tongari! Get off of me! What's the matter with you? I can't breathe!”

“Sorry, but I'm just so happy to see you!” Vash's crying slowed and he hiccuped back a sob. He released the priest, his arms and the front of his jacket now soaked. “When I found you in the church you were barely alive. I didn't know what to do, so I did the first thing I could think of and left you with my sister here, and it seems like she took really good care of you, and I'm just so happy!”

Vash's overjoyed blubbering started fresh, and Wolfwood was forced to extend an arm to fend off another fierce embrace. “How long ago was this?”

“About two months,” Vash sniffled.

“Two months!?” Wolfwood stared incredulously as Vash nodded.

“Oh, here.” Vash handed Wolfwood a towel. “And I brought you some clothes. It's pretty much everything I own that's black.”

Wolfwood accepted the dark bundle, still trying to process what Vash had told him. He'd thought he was dead, and here all along he'd been inside a plant bulb. “What did you tell the girls?”

“Um... that you were dead.”

“What!?”

“Well, I didn't think this was going to work!” Vash defended against Wolfwood's anger. He smiled and added, “Wanna see your grave?”

The preacher man didn't seem to appreciate the humor. “For Christ's sake, Spiky! You really need to have every inch or your ass kicked! Where the hell is my cross?”

Vash nervously bit his lip. “Well, it's with my gun.”

Wolfwood noted Vash's gun-belt which hung weightless and empty at his side. “Which is where?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“Err... with my coat.”

“Knock it off, needle noggin!” Wolfwood poked a threatening finger at Vash's chest.

“Okay, okay. Jeez! I had it out with Knives and sort of left everything in the desert.”

“Knives?” Wolfwood stilled at the name. He was afraid to ask. “What happened?”

“I won.” Vash's eyes cut through him as he spoke. “He can be saved, Wolfwood. He's back with the girls, but he's still unconscious.”

Wolfwood felt a dark wall of rage and terror crash over his head. “You... you left... that maniac... alone... with our girls?!”

Vash nodded solemnly.

His arm swung, seemingly of its own volition. Despite being dead for two months, he felt surprisingly strong. He found himself standing over the gunman he'd just struck. “You son of a bitch! I should kill you!”

“Who else was I going to leave him with while I collected your ass?” Vash turned his head and spit blood on the ground. “He's completely out of it! Totally harmless. I wouldn't put them in danger.”

Wolfwood seethed. He hurriedly pulled on the shirt Vash had given him, shaking his head. “You just don't get it, Spiky. He's your own brother and you just don't get it.” He reached out a hand to help Vash off the ground. “Well, come on then.”

“Where we going?” Vash asked.

“To go get our guns, and get the hell back to the girls, before Knives eats them or something.”

Vash frowned. “I told you, they're fine.”

Wolfwood ignored his assertion. “You had better've brought me some smokes, needle noggin.” He rummaged through Vash's duffel finding his sunglasses, and eventually, a brand new pack of cigarettes. “Ah, good man. You're not a total waste after all.”

Vash closed up the bag as Wolfwood gratefully lit an uncharacteristically straight cigarette. “I figured you'd hit me if I didn't,” he mumbled. “Lot of good that did me.”

“Quit your belly-aching, Tongari. You're lucky that's all I did. Now, let's go clean up your mess before it gets any worse.”