Trigun Fan Fiction ❯ After the Fall ❯ December ( Chapter 11 )

Title:After the Fall
Author:Girl.Interpreted
Betas:Alaena Night & Sugar Pill
Timeline:Post-anime (a few days after Vash returns to the girls with Knives in tow), with a manga topping
Pairings:Vash/Meryl, Millie/Wolfwood, Knives/don't worry about it: Knives isn't even in this chapter
Genre:Deep Space Planet Future Gun Action
Rating:T- for violence, language, sexual content
Archive:Please contact me for permission.
Disclaimer:Trigun, 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:In this installment, I am happy to bring you a guest summarizer: the lovely and talented Sugar Pill. That is why this summary is so much funnier and better written than previous summaries. Enjoy it while it lasts, because next time you're stuck with me again! (And yes, Sugar Pill does hold the license that permits her to spell “skills” with a 'z' at her own discretion.) :
Last Time: While Vash had planned to stay with Knives awhile to ease his transition back into society (genocide doesn’t exactly make polite getting-to-know-you-talk), he was too worried about his friends (and a certain insurance girl) to stay put. So, over a breakfast of eggs and revealing conversation (topics spanned from Knives tricking Vash into revealing his feelings for Meryl and Vash schooling Knives in the ways of Thou Shalt Not Diss My Woman (see: He. Did. What?!), to Knives revealing he thought of Vash’s ‘pet’ as a human anomaly (what’s a five letter word for “short insurance agent with a penchant for scaring the crap out of grown men and certain free-walking plants”?) and Knives declaring that he planned to be on his best behavior for the next five years, so that when it was his turn, he could expect nothing less from Vash), Vash bid his brother a fond farewell (AKA “please don’t massacre anyone while I gone, okay?”) and set out to find Wolfwood and the girls. Meanwhile, Meryl put her sewing skills to use on a peculiar red coat and allowed herself to indulge in Eau de Stampede (In stores now! Note: may cause wearer to develop an insatiable appetite for pastries and become a walking disaster). Vash then reached his first stop at the McLeod’s saloon, where he learned that Meryl had instructed Rosana and Mac to tell him to not go after her. But before Vash could completely contemplate the ironic hurt of Meryl feeding him some of his own medicine, the bar was torn apart by a barrage of bullets! It was Anthony Trivolli and a gang of would-be-but-shouldn’t-quit-their-day-job bounty hunters come to collect on Vash’s whopping $$200 billion price tag and exact revenge for Anthony’s broken nose and stolen truck (Whoops, guess Vash now knows about Meryl’s secret ability to boost cars). But don’t worry, Vash made sure everyone was safe (including Kuroneko, nyah!) before he taught Anthony and his unfortunate friends why he’s called The Stampede (think Tarantino-like mad skillz without all the fake blood). After making Anthony promise he would repair the McLeod’s bar, Rosana and some of Wolfwood’s advice (see: The Drive Home) convinced Vash to go find Meryl after all: “where Meryl was concerned, it would be better to have to apologize, than to ask permission.” Famous last words? Hopefully not.



Chapter 11: December

December City, as it turned out, was a good two-hundred to two-hundred-fifty iles away, depending on the route one chose. As Vash was attempting to 'stay below the radar', and as he wasn't exactly sure of whose radar he had to avoid, he was forced to go the long way. It should have taken a month, but Vash was a determined man: he made the trip in less than two weeks. This entailed no less than four bus rides, several days and nights on foot, three hitched rides with characters of a dubious nature, and eighty-six hours on the back of a thomas.

Most of it hadn't been so bad. The only sleep he'd gotten had been while riding the bus, but he was familiar enough with walking, and those he'd hitched rides with were more creepy than actually dangerous. It was the thomas that had given him trouble.

He'd bought her on the edge of a town that hardly required a name, for the price of a bottle of cheap rye-blend. He wasn't what one would call an 'accomplished' rider. In fact, his few experiences with the breed had landed him either on his ass in the sand, or in the hospital. But with no other modes of transportation availing themselves, he'd taken a chance. He picked what he thought was the friendliest looking of the bunch and named her 'Eileen' after his tragically dead, tragically imaginary, girlfriend.

That had been his first mistake.

For the first eight hours of their budding relationship, Eileen seemed to care neither for her name, nor the wanna-be cowboy who cluelessly attempted to direct her actions. His weight in the saddle was awkward, he held the reins like limp noodles. How could she respect someone like that? She'd bucked him off twice for every ile they traveled.

Eventually, somewhere around his fifteenth face-plant, Vash had been able to forge a shaky alliance with his steed. He'd imitated the techniques he'd seen Millie and Meryl employ (the girls having a knack for thomasback riding). He'd stroked her neck, spoken to her softly, and when that hadn't worked... he'd given her every last donut hidden in his duffel.

The peace agreement between man and beast was unorthodox, but functional, and ultimately effective: Eileen crested a dune, bringing December into sight, and Vash the Stampede was still on her back. Vash didn't so much 'dismount' as slide off of her side. His legs were shaky and he was sore in some of the very few places he didn't have scars. He took a moment, sitting in the sand, to observe December from a distance. The last big city he'd been in had been Augusta. Before that, July.

Was he really going to do this? Was he really going to walk into the biggest city on Gunsmoke of his own accord? Knowing what he was, of what he was capable? Vash appraised the peaceful skyline, flexed the fingers of his right hand unconsciously. Yeah. Yeah, he was.

Vash closed his eyes. Strange, how even after days in the desert, his body could find the moisture for tears. As if sensing his distress, and feeling guilty for her earlier obstinance, Eileen softly nosed his shoulder. He absently scratched her head beneath the sandshield in response.

Yes. He was going to walk straight into December, a weapon of unfathomable power hanging by his right-side, masquerading as an arm. He would do it, because it was the only way to ultimately find her. When did I become so selfish? He wondered what Rem would say, but her image didn't come to him. No blue skies. No flower petals. But then, he had told her that he needed to make his own decisions for a while.

Vash stood, gathering Eileen's reins in his right hand. “Ready, Eileen?” he asked, a grin displacing a soft, thoughtful frown. “Now don't be jealous,” he continued to tell his steed, “but I've gotta see someone about a girl.”

Eileen followed Vash down the dune, and through the hurried streets of December until they reached the massive edifice of the Bernardelli Insurance Society. Despite the decidedly modern feel of the city, there were posts for tying off thomases at intervals along the sidewalks. Vash fixed a loose knot in the reins and gave his mount a parting pat on the neck. “Wish me luck, girl. See you soon.”

Vash's pace slowed as he neared the building's entrance. Two statues of lions on pillars guarded the long stairway that led up to a wall of glass windows and doors. He paused, the lobby invisible past his own reflection. A group of young people in skirts and suits passed him on their way through the revolving doors.

Wow. He looked really out of place. At Knives' insistence, every article of his previously trust-worthy traveling attire had been traded out. Well, he was still wearing jeans, but that was about all that was left. His long-reaching boots with their intricate line of buckles and snaps had been replaced by a much less complicated pair of leather chaps. They were long, revealing just the toes and heels of a traditional pair of cowboy boots. He missed the security of the concealed blade in his old pair, but now that he wasn't stepping down on a plate of metal, screwed into his instep, he found a custom pair of boots wasn't really necessary for comfort's sake. One belt held up his jeans and the chaps, while the other was slung low on his hips, holstering his gun. His preferred trench-style of duster had been forsaken for an open-fronted model in a light-weight, deeply tanned leather. No longer being able to button his jacket high around his face, he'd been obliged to add a bandanna to protect his mouth and nose against sudden gusts of wind and sand. This now hung loosely around his neck, across the partially unbuttoned front of a cotton shirt. And good God, his hair... It had started to grow out, but with none of the grace of his brother's obedient locks. Vash's hair, cut in the same style as his twin's, stuck out at every conceivable angle, a mess of cowlicks and counter-turning crowns that always made him look as if he'd only just gotten out of bed. He hadn't shaved in a week, and the stubbled shadow, a shade or two darker than the hair on his head, made him look gruffer and less boyish. Less trustworthy, he thought.

Vash hardly recognized himself in the man reflected in the glass. This man was some sort of dangerous desperado. This man didn't have a chance in hell of getting anyone inside this building to tell him where he could find the insurance girls.

He sighed, thinking that perhaps he should check into a hotel, clean himself up a little before he gave this half-hatched plan a try.

“Ahem!” Vash's attention was drawn to the sound. A doorman was holding one of the large glass doors next to the revolving ones open. “Coming inside, sir?” the man questioned.

Vash hesitated a moment longer, but the doorman smiled pleasantly enough. Oh, what the hell... “Sure. Thanks.” He walked through the entrance, taking a deep breath and a quick look around as he entered the lobby. His eyes landed on a directory mounted on the wall next to the front desk: 'Risk Prevention: Floor Five.'

Avoiding the elevator, Vash entered the stairwell, taking them two at a time. A tickle of doubt entered his mind as he opened the door leading out onto the fifth floor, but he pushed it aside. This is going to work. This has to work. He took a few steps forward and paused, looking out at the arrangement of desks, walkways, and low dividers. Who should he talk to? Where did he go first?

He squared his shoulders, deciding that he'd ask whoever was sitting at the first desk he ran into. He started down a walkway, offering a nervous smile to a blond girl as they passed each other.

“You!” The hissing gasp of an exclamation made Vash turn on his heel. The blond girl he'd just passed was stopped dead in her tracks, staring at him with a mixture of recognition and disbelief. Before Vash could react, the girl had seized his arm and was dragging him down the hall. She unceremoniously shoved him into a tiny room on his left. No, not a room: a closet. The girl quickly shut the door behind them and reached for a dangling string, the overhead light snapping to life.

Vash took in her features. She was pretty, maybe wore a little too much makeup. Beauty-mark on her chin. Long, wavy hair. Did he know this girl? She seemed to know him. “Uh... I'm sorry, miss. Have we...?”

“What the hell are you doing here!?” she angrily hissed, a glossy, manicured nail poking into his chest.

“I'm, um... I'm looking for Meryl Stryfe and Millie...” he began meekly.

“I know that!” she interrupted, exasperation evident. “What are you doing here? Don't you know how badly this company wants to find Vash the Stampede? How hard Meryl, Millie and I have been working to make sure you don't get found?! And here you are! You just waltz right into headquarters!” She threw her hands up in disbelief, causing Vash to wince against a potential smack.

“I'm sorry... I don't...” he tried lamely, “I have no idea who you are, or what you're talking about.”

The girl narrowed her gaze, tapping her foot in irritation. “Well... you are certainly just as Meryl described.” He could only blink in confusion, and the girl softened, letting out a long-suffering sigh. “I'm Karen. I used to work with Meryl and Millie when they were stationed here. You know? When you disappeared on them for two years?”

“Oh.” Vash looked away guiltily.

“Yeah... 'Oh.'...” Karen's irritation was back. Vash couldn't, for the life of him, seem to figure out why he always had that sort of effect on women. “You must know there's a bounty on your head again? And this time the military and Bernardelli are mutually interested parties, working together to find you. I've been rerouting and redirecting every piece of correspondence Meryl and Millie have sent me, trying to keep anyone from getting any leads on where you might be... Do you have any idea how badly this complicates things for me? Having you show up here?” Her eyes suddenly widened as an unpleasant thought entered her mind. “Did anyone else see you? Who else did you talk to?”

“No! No one!” Vash put his hands up protectively between them. “You're the first person I ran into! Swear!”

Karen heaved a sigh of relief, crossing her arms against her chest. “Well, you have to go.”

A measure of Vash's resolve returned. He shook his head. “Not going anywhere until you tell me where I can find her.”

“Her?” Karen's mouth screwed up into a half-smile. “Would that be Millie, or Meryl?”

Realizing his mistake, Vash fumbled, “Oh, um... what I...”

Karen turned her nose in the air, put up a hand to silence him. “Don't bother. You'll only embarrass yourself.”

Vash laughed nervously, his hand unconsciously reaching around to the back of his neck. “Yeah, you're probably right.” He let his hand fall back to his side and looked Karen in the eye, offering what he hoped was the most endearing and disarming smile in his arsenal. “Can't you just tell me where to find her? Please?”

Karen's posture softened, but she wasn't entirely moved. “She doesn't want you looking for her,” she said softly. In the stillness of the small space where they stood, she could hear a hitched shudder as Vash released the breath he'd been holding. What a stupid man. “Don't you get it?” she hissed. “The military and the Society are watching her, hoping that she'll lead them straight to you. She's protecting you, you lunkhead!”

“Oh... so she...?” Karen noted the childlike hope that lit the man's face, and wondered how this person could possibly be Vash the Stampede. But no, that was definitely the face that had been staring out from a frame, closed in one of the drawers of Meryl's desk, for as long as Karen could remember.

Karen sighed, defeated. Meryl was going to kill her for this if anything went wrong, but.... “Oh, damn it all!” Karen suddenly huffed, and Vash eyed her quizzically. “You stay here. I'm going to tell the chief that I need to leave. We've got a lot to do before tomorrow.”

“What happens tomorrow?” Vash asked.

“You are going to September, to the Thompson Homestead,” she replied in a clipped tone.

Vash couldn't help the broad grin that eagerly made its way onto his lips. “You're going to help me,” he said assuredly.

Karen took a menacing step toward him, her face cross as she stabbed another fingernail into his chest. “Don't you dare make me regret this! When you disappeared? When you were gone for all that time? Without a word to let either of them know you were even alive? She grieved you... She might not have said it, but, she suffered.” Vash swallowed hard, Karen's cutting gaze was unwavering.

“I never thought of that,” Vash admitted quietly. “At the time, I was trying... I just wanted to protect her.” It was the truth. At least, it was what he'd considered to be true at the time. Now, it just seemed inadequate, a lame excuse for his cowardice.

Karen didn't back off, as dissatisfied with his explanation as he was. “Just so we're clear? I think you're trouble. And I'm not convinced that it's a good idea to help you, but knowing Meryl... I suspect she'll stop being mad at me the minute she sees you. But!” she said, raising that threatening finger so it pointed at his face. “You'd better not hurt her, or disappear again, or chicken out, or any bullshit like that, because then it will be my fault for sending you to her. Got it?”

Vash wanted to promise, to tell Karen that he would never hurt Meryl again. That he would never be frightened. That he would never do the wrong thing. But a promise you can't be sure you'll keep is no better than a lie. Despite the masks he often wore, honesty was one of Vash's greatest strengths. He met Karen's fierce gaze and breathed, “Please... I have to find Meryl.”

When Meryl had first returned from the Outer, Karen hadn't allowed anyone to ask questions about the Stampede. Meryl had been through enough, and it would be best if she could just put the whole, ugly incident behind her. But the way Meryl had defended the man! Karen had been sure it was some sort of version of Stockholm Syndrome. The woman was obviously delusional. And from the way Millie praised the numerous meritorious qualities of 'Mr. Vash', the delusion appeared to be contagious. If she hadn't held Meryl and Millie in such high regard, both personally and professionally, Karen never would have agreed to this game of subterfuge, working her butt off to keep the powers-that-be chasing their tails. This was Vash the friggin' Stampede, for crying out loud! However...

The way he was looking at her now, the way Meryl's name rolled off his tongue like a prayer-- Karen felt his earnest gaze, and the fervent plea in his voice, as they worked in tandem, liquefying the insides of her chest until they dripped into her toes.

Okay. So maybe she could see why Meryl kept following this guy. “Oh well,” she said primly, flipping her hair in a nervous gesture, “I suppose some women just can't be happy unless they're risking their lives.”

Vash sensed the change in Karen, could tell that he'd won her over to his side. Without warning, he wrapped both arms around the girl, lifting her off her feet. “Thank you, thank you!”

As the gunman spun her around in his crushing, tearful embrace, Karen's swinging toes knocked over a broom. She was positive that one or more of her coworkers were sure to hear the commotion this idiot was creating. Wouldn't it just be perfect to have Sanders or, God forbid, the chief walk in on her and a dirty-looking cowboy in the broom closet? “Put me down, you stupid jerk! What the hell kind of outlaw are you, anyway?”

“Um, sorry,” Vash said sheepishly, still grinning as he set her back on her feet.

Karen rolled her eyes and pushed him out of her way. She opened the door a crack to make sure the hall was empty. “Stay here and be quiet!” she hissed, before she slipped through the half-opened door.

Vash spent five contemplative minutes in the broom closet before Karen came back to retrieve him, which was two hundred ninety-seven seconds more than his daily allotment of meditation. The subjects? Life and Love. He'd done it, found a way to get to her. Tomorrow he was going to September, to Meryl. The thought of seeing her, substantial and real in front of him, left him giddy. And that, in and of itself, made him nervous. Five minutes was long enough for him to realize that no matter what he chose, it would be wrong and selfish. It was wrong to want her in his life. It was wrong to force her out of it.

Thirty seconds before Karen returned, jerking him out of the closet and hastily down the stairwell, Vash told his brain to shut the hell up. He'd already decided to find her. For better or worse, that's what he was going to do. The rest? Well... he'd never really been one for planning ahead.

Karen forced him to abandon Eileen, promising that she'd send someone to collect the thomas. Vash would've liked to have said good-bye. Karen walked down the street at such a pace, that even with his long stride, Vash had to hustle to keep up. A glance at any wall or bus stop explained Karen's rush: There were at least six different versions of wanted posters with his photograph plastered on each one. They were good photographs, too. Even with his clothing and hair different, if someone looked closely, they'd recognize him. Vash looked at the pictures as they passed. They seemed familiar somehow.

“They're from your file at Bernardelli,” Karen whispered to him, noticing the way he looked at the posters.

Vash nodded. Now he recognized them. Most had been taken by either Meryl or Millie. That one. He tore down the poster as they passed, staring at the image as he followed Karen down the street. That was the time we stayed at that hotel, and a pipe burst in the girls' room so they moved down the hall to the room I was sharing with Wolfwood. Only, that stupid priest invited all those dancing girls over for a game of cards... The picture on the poster was cropped so that it only showed a close-up of his face. He had a necktie wrapped around his forehead, and was smiling at someone sitting to his left. He remembered that picture, remembered Wolfwood taking it. Meryl had been so angry at first, but once Millie convinced her to have a drink, or four, they'd all had so much fun. It was Meryl that Vash was smiling at in the picture. He remembered that she'd been wearing his sunglasses, and was sticking her tongue out at the camera.

That photograph, the occasion it represented, were personal. He felt a sudden stab of betrayal but quickly dismissed it. Meryl wouldn't hand something like that over to her employer for 'official' use, would she?

Vash nearly walked into Karen when she stopped. He looked up just in time to see her unlocking the front door of her apartment building, coming to a jolting halt before he collided with her petite frame. “We're here,” Karen chimed, oblivious to the fact that she'd barely escaped being run over by a localized disaster.

“Karen?” Vash asked, holding up the wanted poster as he followed her into the elevator. “Why was this picture in my file at Bernardelli?”

Karen sighed, understanding why he'd be confused, as she took the poster from his hand. “Meryl doesn't work for Bernardelli, anymore.”

Vash's brow creased sharply. That wasn't the reply he'd expected. “What? Why?”

“Because,” Karen began matter-of-factly, “she figured out that the government was having her tailed. Not Millie... her. Meryl had Millie write a letter to Bernardelli, telling them that she'd gone rogue, that she'd severed all communication and disappeared. Thanks to some fabricated paperwork, everyone at Bernardelli, and thus everyone in the Cavalry, thinks that Millie is trying to track Meryl down.”

Vash was more confused than ever. “But why would she do that?”

“God, you're dense.” Karen stepped briskly out of the elevator, and motioned for him to be silent until she got her door open and ushered him inside. She stretched her arms over her head, and dropped her keys on the front table before she continued. “The military can't find you because you're like a ghost. You barely exist outside of rumors. The only concrete lead they had on you was her, so she decided to become a ghost as well. Now the only lead they have is Millie, but everyone underestimates her. I really don't think they believe they're going to be able to use her, so they're not watching her as closely as they probably should. As it is now, Millie and Meryl send me letters and I'm able to reroute them, and forge the postmarks, so that no one, aside from me, really knows where either of them are.” Karen finished with a self-satisfied smile. She'd dipped into the fridge while she'd been talking, kicking off her heels as she retrieved two bottles of beer. She took a long swallow from one, and held out the other. “Thirsty?”

While Karen was calm and casual, Vash was horrified. What the hell kind of trouble had he'd gotten his girls into? Meryl quit Bernardelli? Meryl loved Bernardelli! All she ever talked about was work! His brain fished around for a loose end. “My file? The picture?”

“Oh yeah, that...” Karen frowned thoughtfully. She opened the other beer bottle on the edge of the kitchen counter and handed it to him, even though he hadn't responded when she'd offered it earlier. “The Feds decided that Meryl's abandonment of her assignment was the same thing as refusing to cooperate with a Federal investigation, so they searched her apartment here in December.”

“Searched?” Vash asked suspiciously.

Karen shrugged. “Or, you know, ransacked...” Vash's gaze narrowed. She'd had a feeling he wouldn't take this very well. “Relax. She knows all about it, Mr. Typhoon. She's not happy about it, but she says she never had all that much stuff worth keeping anyway. Not like me. I mean, my shoes alone...”

“Karen.”

“Sorry. Anyway, that's how her personal snapshots ended up on your wanted posters.”

Vash sat down in one of the chairs in Karen's kitchen, holding the cold glass of the beer bottle against his face for a moment before taking a long pull. It seemed that Meryl had made a purposeful mess of her life in his absence. Scratch that: because of his absence. “How's Millie?”

Karen smiled, pleased that she had some good news to offer him. “Playing house with someone that Meryl describes as a 'chain-smoking, terrorist priest'... I believe he's a friend of yours? Anyway, they're building an orphanage on Millie's family's place in September.”

“Really?” Vash smiled, imagining Wolfwood living the life of love and peace he'd always insisted was impossible.

“Yep,” Karen grinned back. “Listen, do you have any money? I need to get you some clothes and a ticket for the sandsteamer. I could get it out of petty cash at work, but it would take a whole lot of paperwork to justify...”

“No. I've got money.” Vash reached into his back pocket for his wallet, grateful that over the past century his twin had proven infinitely more fiscally responsible than himself. Knives had handed him just under two thousand double-dollars before he left. “Why do I need clothes?”

“Because,” Karen explained as she snatched the wallet from his hand, thumbing out a substantial stack of bills, “if you're going to be traveling in public, on a sandsteamer, this whole 'desert hombre' thing you've got going on isn't going to work. We need for you to look like the polar opposite of 'Vash the Stampede'. What size do you wear, anyway?” At his confused look, she elaborated, “Shirt? Pants? Jacket?”

“Um,” Vash shrugged, “tall and lanky?”

Karen released an audible, frustrated sigh, heading for her bedroom as she huffed, “Men!”

She returned with a tape measure and began stretching it across various parts of his body, pausing to write the numbers down on a scrap of paper. When she got to his inseam, Vash shifted uneasily. Karen laughed lightly, looking up at him from beneath her lashes. “Shy?” she asked.

“A little, I guess,” Vash replied, trying to hold still. When she shook her head and laughed again, he asked, “What?”

“Sorry. Nothing, really,” she said, rising and writing down the last figure. “You're just not at all what I imagined.”

“I, uh...” Vash didn't know if that should be taken as a complement. “I get that a lot.”

“Karen put the slip of paper into her purse and grabbed her keys. “You can shower in the bathroom attached to my bedroom. And you should try and get some sleep. You look beat.”

“Thanks. Do you have an extra blanket? I'll crash on your couch.”

Karen hesitated, blushing slightly. “Actually, you're better off in my bed. I, uh, don't really have anything for you to sleep in, and well, you'll have more privacy if you stay in my room. I'm up half the night with paperwork anyway, so the couch is where I end up sleeping more often than not.”

“Oh,” Vash started uncomfortably. It would be awkward sleeping naked in a strange woman's bed, but on the other hand, he had been wearing the same pair of underwear for six days and wasn't thrilled with the idea of putting them back on after finally getting a shower. “If you're sure...”

“Yup!” Karen said brightly. “It's no trouble at all.”

“Thank you,” he sighed, the layer of grime on the back of his neck suddenly more irksome as visions of hot water and soap already began running through his mind.

It took several hours for Karen to finish her errands. She was lucky to find that there were still a few first class cabins available on the next morning's sandsteamer. First class meant discretion and privacy. She'd eat her hat if someone managed to recognize him in that setting. She'd also gone to the tailor's where she'd chosen a suit, simple navy, nothing flashy. She'd picked out a shirt and tie while she was waiting for the alterations to be made according to the measurements she'd written down earlier. She knew that she was supposed to make him look nondescript, but Karen was a girl who loved to shop, and while she'd been able to rein herself into the purchase of a plain white shirt, the tie was an entirely different matter. This was the first time Meryl was going to see him in months, and as her friend, Karen reasoned that she was all but obligated to make sure he looked sharp. So, French blue, rich patterned silk, not the same color as his eyes (Karen had always found anything too matchy to be a bit gauche), but close enough to set them off.

Karen returned to her darkened apartment, immensely pleased with herself. Not only had she been permitted the rationally justifiable expenditure of a large sum of money, but she had managed to select for Vash a new set of threads that was all but guaranteed to knock Meryl on her ass. The list of favors that girl was going to owe her had just increased exponentially.

She stepped out of her shoes, hung up the clothes, and walked into the living room. She was restless. That, and curious. What could it hurt to take one little peek? It wasn't like he didn't have blankets in there. He'd be covered... right?

You're a terrible friend! What would Meryl say? But her hand was already on the doorknob, and it was, after all, her bedroom, and she was therefore free to look at anything that might be sleeping in it. She pushed the door in slowly, holding her breath as it hissed against the carpet. Four full moons meant a bright spill of multi-toned light through the window, gently illuminating the man who slept on his back, his head turned to the side, mouth slightly parted as he took slow, deep breaths. One arm curled across his waist where the sheets were bunched, while the other reached over his head in a soft arch.

The first thing Karen noticed, oddly enough, was his expression. He had one of those faces that relaxed completely in sleep, giving him a look of innocent abandon matched only by children. Eventually, Karen's eyes strayed to the rest of what there was to see. It took a moment, her eyes not quite making sense of what she was looking at, until... In a pinpoint of clarity, the scars finally came into focus. How had she not seen them right away? She covered her mouth, refusing to let the gasp escape. She stepped backward, gently closing to door. And only when she'd walked several paces away, after she'd collapsed heavily onto her sofa, did she allow the startled cry to be absorbed by the pillow she held to her face.

How? What kind of life did someone have to live to suffer that kind of mutilation? That deformity? Karen could feel her whole body trembling at the horror of it. Oh, God! Meryl? What have you gotten involved in?

In Karen's bedroom, Vash opened his eyes. He could hear Karen now, her muffled sobs and gasps. He'd felt her when she entered the room, knew the moment she realized what she was looking at. He stared up at a ceiling that was as blank and cold as his own expression, his thumb grazing his stomach, idly tracing a raised pattern of deformed flesh.