Trigun Fan Fiction ❯ After the Fall ❯ A Weakness Coming On ( Chapter 12 )

Title:After the Fall
Author:Girl.Interpreted
Betas:Alaena Night & Sugar Pill & Abaddon Nox (that's right... I needed 3 whole betas for this chapter: the pressure was on.)
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/who cares? It's the VxM reunion!
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: Last time: Legendary gunman? Absolutely. Legendary cowboy? Not so much. Despite his inability to ride a thomas (and how the hell has he managed to avoid picking up that skill on Gunsmoke?), Vash was able to make his way to December. This did not please Karen, who'd been trying very hard to keep his whereabouts a secret. (Vash has a certain flair with women. And by 'flair', I mean, 'ability to piss off'.) But, damn his good looks and endearing arsenal of smiles, he was able to win her over and she agreed to help. Oh well, I suppose some women just can't help themselves when it comes to 'tall, blond, and emo'. We also learned that Meryl quit Bernardelli and has gone into hiding to prevent the Federation from using her to find Vash. Thanks to some help from Karen, the Cavalry has no idea where she is. Looking for clues, they searched her December apartment, but apparently all they received for their efforts were a few snapshots of Vash being a goof. (Be careful, kids: you never know when that picture of you playing beer-pong at Homecoming will end up on your wanted posters.) Karen offered Vash her shower and her bedroom while she ran out to spend his (well, actually, Knives' ) money. Vash got a first-class cabin on the sandsteamer and a new suit, cuz every girl's crazy 'bout a sharp-dressed man (just ask ZZ Top). When Karen got home, she had to sneak a peak (admit it: you would have, if you were her) and was shocked/repulsed when she saw the scars. Maybe that's why it's something Vash doesn't usually like young ladies to see.

A/N: The title of this chapter is derived from a song: “The Walk” by Imogen Heap, which I feel is a very Vash/Meryl kind of tune. Now, I may be running the risk of traveling into 'songfic' territory here (which is not for me), but I can't help but share a few lines from the song, in case you are not familiar (it will give more flavor to the title): “I feel a weakness coming on. It's not meant to be like this. It's not what I planned at all. I don't want to feel like this. So, that makes it all your fault.” Ay, me... Vash and Meryl: forever proving that nothing says 'I love you' like smashing your head against a wall of denial. And while we're treading dangerous 'songfic' territory, I will say that I hate inserting specific music into my writing... however! I did have a particular tune pop into my head when I described a song in this chapter. Normally, I would keep that as my little secret, but... we're all friends here! It's fanfiction! So, if you'd like a little mood music when you get to that scene, you can cue up Michael Bublé's cover of Ray Charles' “You Don't Know Me”... or not. That's just what my brain decided to play.
Additionally, I was so freaking nervous about writing this chapter. I want to thank the betas who held my hand through it. You know? I think it might have come out half-way decent... which means I might've lost a bet... but never mind that! Enjoy! And review!!!

Chapter 12: A Weakness Coming On


Meryl continued to smile and nod, realizing that she could at least watch the party without Cecilia noticing her inattention. Her eyes made a slow pass across the activity partially sheltered by canopy. There had to be over three-hundred guests. Meryl observed the little gatherings and conversations at small tables, the long sidebars covered with food and flowers.

The wedding itself had been at sunset, and the reception was now illuminated entirely by candles, paper lanterns, and strings of small white lights. The draping canopy had been erected in the garden where the ceremony had been held, but a party of this size couldn't be contained within the space. Grass and moss softly gave way to the stretching horizon of desert, where four nearly full moons hung low in the sky, bathing the revelers who'd spilled out onto the sand in gentle light.

Her eyes paused on the familiar outline of Nicholas Wolfwood. He was having what appeared to be a rather heated debate with the elderly priest who had performed the marriage. The older man was waving a hand in front of his face to dispel the cloud of smoke Wolfwood breathed in his direction, while Wolfwood gestured emphatically with a cigarette laden set of fingers, apparently arguing a point. Meryl was jealous. At least their 'conversation' seemed a hell of a lot more interesting than the one she was having.

Meryl huffed impatiently, and was disappointed when Cecilia failed to notice. She really should just walk away. The crazy old lady had nearly knocked her to the ground earlier. Granted, Meryl hadn't attended many weddings, but she was confident in her conclusion that there had never been a person more intent on catching a bouquet than great aunt Cecilia. Perhaps it was because she was at least seventy and had never been married... but, good God! Was it really necessary to throw elbows?

Meryl had wanted no part in the bouquet toss. She was far too dignified to dive and push for a bundle of flowers. And God forbid she did catch the thing, there was no way she was going to allow a stranger to slide a garter up her thigh. So, how exactly did she end up on the floor with the rest of the single women? The Thompson girls (both those by birthright, and the newest via matrimony) had devised a plan for ensuring it was Millie who ended up with a handful of posies. Somehow, this plan required Meryl to run interference on great aunt Cecilia, which (when Meryl had been assigned the task) had seemed positively silly. Of course, that was before Cecilia made her move and nearly tackled Meryl to the ground like a varsity lineman.

Meryl rubbed her sore hip as she remembered, but the older woman was still blathering away, oblivious to the glare Meryl hadn't been able to keep herself from delivering. Maybe Cecilia was just playing dumb. Perhaps this was some kind of revenge, considering that in the end, the bouquet had landed in Millie's hands.

Now, the garter toss: That had been hilarious. Nearly worth getting beat on by an old lady. After the success of their plan, Millie's sister, Margaret, had turned to Meryl and whispered, “Now, how do we make sure that Nicky gets the garter?”

The wry smile had been irrepressible. “Oh... I wouldn't worry about that,” she'd replied.

Of course, Millie's brothers and cousins were out of the running. But they had friends, and Abby had six brothers of her own. Meryl had looked on with amusement as approximately thirty men took the floor. As if they had a chance.

Wolfwood had been standing a bit towards the edge of the crowd. His weight was distributed with casual disregard to one hip, his shoulders slumped with hands in pockets, cigarette dangling from his lip. His face was perfectly lax, and he even had his eyes closed.

A hissing murmur of outrage had gone up amongst the bridesmaids. Why did it seem like Millie's boyfriend didn't give a crap who caught the garter? Meryl knew, however, that Millie wasn't the least bit concerned about the possibility of a stranger slipping that ring of lace up her long leg. As the frilly, elastic bauble went up in the air, Wolfwood's only movement was a wink he sent in Millie's direction.

A flurry of various suit-clad limbs momentarily blocked Meryl's view, but as the swell of hopeful men subsided, she'd had no doubt as to what would meet her eyes: Wolfwood stood, cigarette still burning, his expression cool indifference defined. One hand was still casually thrust in a pocket, but he held the other aloft, the garter twirling lazily around his pointer finger.

Judging by the looks on the faces of the other would-be garter-seekers, they had no idea what had hit them. Their stunned silence was broken by Millie's enthusiastic cheer of, “Way to go, honey!” The priest, it seemed, had retrieved that garter with extreme prejudice.

That's actually how Meryl had ended up in her latest predicament: she'd been laughing so hard that she hadn't noticed Cecilia's stealth approach until she was already captive. Now, if only someone would...

“Sempai!” Millie grabbed Meryl's wrists, her smiling face blocking great aunt Cecilia from view. “There you are! You have to come and dance!”

Cecilia looked like she might object, but Millie breezed by her with a goofy smile, leading a grateful Meryl by the hand. “Thank God, Millie. I didn't know how much more I could take,” she whispered.

Millie leaned toward her friend, linking their arms as they walked. “I would have gotten you out sooner, but I had to save Father Allen from Nicholas.”

Meryl laughed, following Millie as she stepped onto the dance floor. The bridesmaids, in pink gowns identical to Millie's, were dancing in a circle with Abby at their center, linking arms as they spun, giggling and smiling. Meryl tried to decline as Millie made space for them in the ring, but Millie's arm was still hooked around her elbow, and Meryl found herself being carried along for the ride.

For the first time in months, Meryl was truly enjoying herself. She gave herself over to the energy of the party, of the people around her. She allowed herself to believe in the new beginnings promised by such an occasion. Allowed the secondhand feelings of joy and hope to become her own.

She noticed the figure the first time the rotation of the dance brought it into view. It seemed odd for a guest to be standing alone in the sand, apart from everyone else. On the second pass, she broke out of the ring. Meryl told herself it was a mistake, the result of wishful thinking. She stared hard, disbelieving, but the recognition was so real, and...

“Sempai?” All of the women had stopped moving. Confused by Meryl's serious expression, they followed her gaze, finding the tall delineation of a man standing motionless in the desert. “Oh my God,” Millie gasped, as her eyes landed on the same figure they were all staring at.

It was all Meryl needed. Millie saw him, too. He was real. She took off, not caring how she looked as she left the dance floor and her heels stuck in the grass. She kicked them off as she stumbled, and broke into a full run. In the dark, she couldn't make out the man's face, but... it was him.

Vash had been watching her for the last ten minutes. Since Millie had pulled her away from the older lady that looked as though she'd been talking her ear off. He'd been waiting so long to see her, and now that he'd found her, he couldn't seem to move. She looked so happy, so alive. He felt as though his intrusion would break the spell, somehow disrupt the perfection that was Meryl twirling in a sapphire dress, her eyes bright, her laughter easy.

Had she always been this beautiful? Had he somehow failed to recognize it? Or was it merely because he was on the outside now? Because he couldn't be certain she'd smile like that for him? In that moment, he wasn't very proud of himself. Hunting the elusive mayfly known as love? What a hypocrite. That particular bug had been buzzing around his head for a long time now, within arm's reach, and he... well, he was standing alone in the sand, watching her, really seeing her for the first time, because he was most likely about to lose her.

He might have stood there all night: unwilling to leave, but unable to go to her. But she saw him. He could tell she wasn't certain at first. The smile had fallen away, her entire body tensing as her slender eyebrows knotted sharply above her eyes. He'd wanted to call to her, to at least raise his hand in some sort of greeting. But a sudden fear froze him. He almost wished he could just disappear.

Since the day he'd run from Knives, made the break that necessitated the abandonment of his twin, it had been his connection to humanity that had kept Vash going. Over the years there had been plenty of people who had loved him, at least in the abstract. Loved the idea of him. But, there were a handful of human beings who had managed to know him well enough to truly care for him. The girls, Max, the Doc, Lina and Grandma Sheryl, even Wolfwood in his begrudging, and often violent, manner. And Vash loved them, was in love with humanity as a larger concept, something that was meant to keep Rem alive in his heart and mind. He felt the pull of affection even for strangers, even for those who sought to somehow harm him. But, Vash realized, he'd never really allowed himself to be loved. Not since Rem. And his connection to every human being that had entered his life since had been carefully guarded, dulled by the dishonesty that he'd always felt was necessary for their safety. And yes, for his own safety, as well.

As he watched Meryl sprint towards him, he was seized by an acute fear linked with the sudden knowledge that yes, he loved her, but that feeling was more personal than anything he'd felt prior. The ache he felt in his chest, nearly threatening to double him over, had nothing to do with her humanness, and everything to do with her.

She came to a halting stop in front of him, her eyes fixed and wide. Her confusion was laced with increasing concern and uncertainty as he failed to move, failed to speak. He'd never been more aware of his strangeness, his otherness. He thought about the irony, the pathetic hypocrisy inherent in the fact that he preached Peace and was yet, by his very nature, half of the greatest threat ever posed to the continued survival of the human race. Weapons, tools of War, hung all around him: the colt, the machine gun in his left arm, the atomic bomb that was the very fibre of his right.

He couldn't take his eyes off her, as ashamed as he was, watching as her face began to show signs that she anticipated his rejection. She was wearing a tea-length evening gown, the jewel-toned teal of the fabric looking impossibly soft, draping away from her hips where it fell to handkerchief hemlines by her knees. The wind tossed the garment into fluttering disarray around the solidness of her legs, her bare feet stained green where she'd run through the grass. Her hair had grown longer: piecey, feminine strands that tickled the nape of her neck. Her bangs imitated the motion of the dress, tossing themselves in a rolling pattern across her forehead, around her flushed cheeks.

“Vash?”

She sounded so uncertain, even afraid. He hated to see her like that: vulnerable, fragile. Hated that he was the cause.

“Meryl, I...” His voice came out choked, pathetically lacking the strength and reassurance he'd hoped for. But Vash didn't know that strength wasn't required. For her, the very sound of her name on his tongue was enough to shatter the invisible wall between them.

She threw herself at him, forcing him to catch her in his arms. His name was a sob that escaped her throat, her tears wet and real on his neck.

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,” he murmured, though he wasn't sure exactly what he was apologizing for. Whether it was for things he'd done, hadn't done, things he wanted, or would someday do or fail to do. He found himself on his knees, her hands in his hair as he gripped her hips, buried his face against her stomach. “Meryl, I've missed you so much,” he desperately confessed. “I didn't realize how much...”

Meryl shut her eyes against the sudden swell of uncounted emotions, competing for attention within her every cell. How could he do this to her? Just show up out of the ether and make her feel like this? “You're such a bastard, Vash,” she said weakly. “You promised me Knives wouldn't wake up. You promised you wouldn't get shot. You lied about Wolfwood being dead! You.... you've been missing for months!”

“I know. I know,” he muttered against her, the sound of crying evident in his voice. His grip on her hips tightened with each accusation.

Meryl dropped to the sand in front of him, wrapping her arms around his chest with fervent abandon. She nestled her face in the curve of his neck. “Vash, I don't care! You're alive, broomhead! I don't care about the rest of it.”

He pushed her gently back, and took her face in both of his hands. His watercolor eyes soft and unsteady, he asked: “Forgive me?” not believing that she would, or could. Feeling selfish for even daring to hope. Meryl knew this as she knew him, and the familiarity of the scene brought on a flash of the nightmare she'd had before waking to find him gone.

“Anything,” she assured, the strength of her vow in her eyes as she met his gaze. “Always.”

His shoulders slumped, his eyes closing as a grateful, shuddering breath escaped his throat. She felt his fingers as they slipped through her hair, curling gently at the back of her head as he drew her towards him.

“Mr. Vash, right?” The couple turned sharply at Millie's middle big brother's exclamation. A quick scan revealed that a small crowd had gathered around the pair.

“Frank!” Millie hissed, punching her brother in the arm.

“Cheating bastard!” Vince added. “No throwing the bet!”

Millie glared meaningfully at her little big brother, mortified by his outburst.

Meryl and Vash hastily rose from the sand. Both looked embarrassed, Meryl a bit more so, considering that she'd been made well aware of 'the bet' during her time in September.

“Spikey!” The priest approached, grinning with open arms. Vash smiled, expecting a hug, but receiving a punch to the gut instead.

“What was that for!” Vash demanded by way of a gasp, doubled over at the point of impact.

“For shooting me! And for being generally needle-noggin-ish.” Wolfwood smirked, but the expression was more warm than derisive, indicating that he considered their score settled, and further throttling unnecessary.

“Good to see you, too, preacher man,” Vash greeted sarcastically, a moment before Millie launched herself into his arms.

“Oh, Mr. Vash! I'm so happy to see you! It seems like we've been trying to find you forever!” Vash smiled, wincing slightly, as the crushing strength of Millie's embraces seemed to run parallel to how pleased she was to see the person she was hugging.

“Big girl! I'm really sorry to have made you worry.”

“Well, I just don't believe it! Could this really be Vash the Stampede?” Nathaniel had stepped through the crowd, his over-bearing presence effectively taking complete control of the reunion. All too quickly, Vash found himself overwhelmed by a horde of Thompsons, people who had been waiting a long time to meet him.

Meryl stood dumbfounded as she watched Vash being drawn towards the canopy, propelled by the river of wedding guests and family. That's it?

Millie placed a knowing hand on her friend's shoulder, her thumb gently kneading at the growing tension she found there. “Don't worry, Sempai,” she smiled. “They'll give him back eventually. And then...!”

“I know, I know...” Meryl interrupted. She followed Vash's departing form with her eyes and sighed. “... I can go nuts on him,” she grumbled.

Millie smiled in broad approval and skipped off into the fray of the party.

It was another hour before Meryl had the chance to speak with Vash again. She spent the time alternating between breathless anticipation, irritated apprehension, and ineffectual attempts at convincing herself of her indifference.

Eventually, he found her scowling by the dregs of the punch bowl, as one of Abby's brother's fruitlessly attempted to engage her in conversation. “I'm sorry,” he heard her apologize. “What did you just say? I missed it.”

“Hey,” Vash interjected, and with one look at how her attention immediately focused on the blond, Abby's brother gave up in the middle of a sentence. Vash grinned, and if either of them noticed Abby's brother as he sulked away, neither made any indication. “Say, insurance girl, am I imagining things, or do you have that look about you?” Meryl laughed as he nodded in the direction of the dance floor.

The band had taken up an old Earth song. The drums were a whispering patter on the high hat, the guitar a bluesy stumble matched by the gentle roll of a piano. The singer's voice managed to be both breathy and rich, echoed by the soft strains of a string quartet.

“I'm not an 'insurance girl', anymore,” she smiled as she took his hand. “I'm a rogue agent.”

Vash frowned as he placed his other hand on the small of her back, settling into the gentle rhythm of the dance. “Yeah, I heard that.”

“Ah,” she said in understanding. “So Karen told you where to find us.”

“You shouldn't have done that,” he said seriously.

The gaze she fixed him with narrowed. “You shouldn't have come looking for me.”

He managed to look contrite. “Sorry 'bout that. I figured you'd be mad, but... well, I never really listen to you, do I?”

“No. You don't.” Her voice was stern, but her eyes sparkled with laughter, and he found he couldn't help but smile. As she looked at him, her brow furrowed in sudden recognition. “What the hell are you wearing? And what did you do to your hair?”

Vash had had three days to get used to the suit. It fit him perfectly, but he couldn't get over the feeling that he was wearing a costume. At Meryl's question, he felt infinitely more awkward and self-conscious. He freed the hand that was held in hers and touched his hair. Karen had managed to tame it with some sort of styling product that resembled mud, but he had so far been unable to recreate her result. It was a piecey, tousled disaster. “You don't like it?” he asked sadly.

Meryl held both his hands and took a long step back, giving his appearance a serious appraisal as he nervously fidgeted. It was a damn good suit, and expensive from the looks of it. Thank you, Karen. The golden, broomheaded spikes, even cropped, managed to stick practically straight up in most places. But it was softer, falling in various little swirls and dips that she found... charming.

“Wow. You look...” she breathed, and he held his breath in anticipation, “...completely ridiculous.” His face fell and she began to laugh, pulling his arm back around her so they could continue their dance. “I'm kidding, dummy!” she teased, and felt him relax a little. “You look great. You just don't... look like you. But... I really like your hair.”

“Yours, too,” he smiled. “You look really... You look beautiful, Meryl.”

She blushed and was glad he couldn't see her face against his chest. “You think so?”

“Oh, yeah,” he affirmed, but was instantly embarrassed by how worshipful his voice sounded. He quickly covered with a joke: “Guess you can't call me 'broomhead' anymore.”

She laughed. “I will always call you 'broomhead'.”

He sighed in mock-dejection. “Yeah, I kinda figured that.”

They fell silent, but it was comfortable between them. Vash had always had better luck with Meryl when he kept his mouth shut. They danced with a slow ease, the song beautiful but vaguely sad. Despite her usually unbending independence, Vash found that Meryl was easy to lead, anticipating steps before he took them. She turned her head so that her ear was over his heart, her body a warm, relaxed line against his chest, her weight lithe and pliable in his arms.

As the song came to its end, the singer's final note suspended in the air, Vash closed his eyes. If only he could commit every detail of the moment to memory. Maybe then, it would never end. He felt Meryl stiffen slightly in his arms and dreaded the words he knew she was about to say. The music stopped and she pulled away, asking, “Where's Knives?”

He stepped away from her disappointedly, a sharp grip of sadness around his heart as he appraised the worried lines of her expression. “Let's find somewhere to sit down,” he suggested. “This might take awhile.”

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Knives was not worried about Vash. Nor did he miss his sibling in the least. He'd spent the better part of a century without him, and a few weeks at his brother's side was no reason to suddenly start longing for his companionship. Vash was annoying, irritating, whiny and adolescent. It was certainly more peaceful without that dolt around. If Vash felt compelled to seek out his human bitch, Knives certainly didn't care.

“Jealous, Knives?” -- He remembered the knowing smirk Vash's pet had worn as she'd spoken the words, and felt a bloom of rage. Fuck that. He wasn't jealous. Of a human? Ridiculous.

Furthermore, his absolute disdain for the human race was perfectly intact. He ate the meals the prattling insect called 'Jessica' prepared because she was a decent cook. He played shogi with the Doc because he was bored. He was standing in the cold-sleep chamber because....

Now that one was more difficult to rationalize. Knives pushed his hands deeper into his coat pockets, hunching his shoulders forward so that more of the warmth of the garment was pressed around his face. His breath came out in chilled, white clouds as he walked the rows of sleeping humans.

He remembered what this had been like when he was a child. He'd been so naïve, telling Vash that little differences were easily overcome. Once the humans awoke, they'd all be friends. Everything would be peachy with a side of keen.

And Vash had been the skeptic. He'd always appraised the sleeping faces with wary eyes, never really believing in the utopia Knives promised. When did those roles reverse?

Knives wondered, not for the first time, how it was possible for Vash to be such an infuriatingly blind optimist. They'd disfigured him, and yet his sentimentality for the species only seemed to grow.

He paused before a single chamber. The girl inside was young, maybe ten or twelve years old. Her shoulder-length blond hair hung in frozen perfection around her laxed, delicate features. What had she been like? What had she been expecting to find on the other side of her sleep? Did she dream?

There was a certain beauty to humans when they were like this: suspended between life and death, but without violence, in a state of perfect calm. Knives could see why he'd been drawn to them so long ago. When they slept, one couldn't see the inherent misery, the cruelty.

He touched the glass above her face. If only they could have stayed sleeping. If only he'd never found out the truth. He felt the weight of his duty, the fate he'd been bound to when the illusion had dissolved. What a terrible purpose. What a lonely road. He frowned deeply as he thought of Vash. Bastard. Why did you leave it all up to me?

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A good number of the wedding guests were booked into hotels in downtown September. Still, the Thompson house was filled to capacity. Wolfwood, Millie and Meryl had all given up their bedrooms in the main house. Vash found himself sharing a room in the nearly completed orphanage with Wolfwood, the girls down the hall.

He turned to the priest, who was smoking in bed, his suit thrown haphazardly across the back of a chair. Vash had hung his up, feeling that if Karen somehow found out he'd left it in a heap, she'd find and throttle him.

“Why?” Vash was asking. He wanted to know why the priest had agreed to return to New Oregon with him.

“Well,” Wolfwood began, exhaling a lazy cloud, “I think you should have killed him. But that's one decision I can't make.”

“I can't kill him, Wolfwood. I need him. I can't explain why, but if I ended his life, I think I'd have to follow.”

Wolfwood sighed in irritation. “I'd forgotten how dramatic you can be. Anyway, I've resigned myself to the fact that my fate's bound to yours. As senseless as you are, I've got no choice.”

Vash frowned. “You always have a choice.”

The priest shrugged noncommittally. “That's one of the many points on which we disagree. Let's just leave it at that. I'm kinda beat and I'd rather not fight.”

Vash wanted to press the topic, but decided to let it go. He really didn't want a fight either. They tended to turn physical, and Wolfwood knew quite a few nasty submission holds. “You seem happy here,” he said instead, then smirked, “You've been domesticated.”

Wolfwood chuckled. “Ain't that something? You know, this Love and Peace shit isn't so bad.”

“Told ya,” Vash grinned. “You really don't have to leave, you know.”

“Dammit, Spikey! Don't start that shit again! I said I didn't want to fight.”

The priest smoothly regained his calm following the outburst, laying back down on the arms he crossed behind his head. He closed his eyes with a sense of finality on the subject.

“So you've been here, what? Two, three months?” Vash asked.

Wolfwood cracked open one eye to look at the gunman, suspicious of his playful tone. “Yeah. And?”

“Well, I couldn't help but notice that your room in the house is all the way down the hall from Millie's. Past her parents'. How's that working out?”

Wolfwood quirked a surprised eyebrow at Vash. Slick bastard. That's not like him. “Spikey,” he replied seriously, “you can't imagine that I have anything but complete respect for Millie's parents, can you? I would never do anything to jeopardize their trust in me...”

“Floorboards creak, huh?”

“No matter where I step,” Wolfwood dryly admitted.

Vash laughed, and Wolfwood took a moment to appreciate its genuine nature. “Sometimes this whole thing is just so normal it feels bizarre. It almost doesn't seem real, like I'm living someone else's life.”

“It's a good life,” Vash reassured. “It's yours if you want it.”

Wolfwood waved his hand dismissively, and looked like he was about the respond, but they were interrupted by a quiet knock on the door as it was simultaneously opened. “Hello?” Millie said as she popped her head inside. “Everyone decent?”

The priest grinned warmly at her appearance. “Honey, I've never been decent.”

“Millie. What are you doing here?” Vash asked.

Millie smiled at Vash before turning to Wolfwood with a smirk. “What does it look like? I'm sneaking down the hall into my boyfriend's room.”

“Bad girl,” Wolfwood leered, and Vash's discomfort at the intimacy of the statement soon dissolved as he found himself being dragged towards the door by the priest.

“Wait!” Vash protested, trying to halt his stumbling gait as the priest jerked him off balance. “Where am I supposed to sleep?”

“There's an extra bed in Meryl's room,” Millie offered.

“No no no!” Vash cried. “You guys can't do this to me!”

“Already done, Tongari,” Wolfwood stated matter-of-factly as he pushed Vash through the door frame.

“Wolfwood!” Vash pleaded. “Mercy! What kind of churchman are you?!”

Wolfwood kept one hand on the door, but raised the other in a pious gesture in front of his chest. “May you go with the grace and protection of the Almighty.”

“Wolf...” but the door had already been slammed unceremoniously in his face.

On the other side of the door he could hear Millie call, “Good luck, Mr. Vash! Don't make Sempai cry!”

He stood for a moment in the hallway. He was wearing the only set of pajamas he owned, and at this point they had to be nearly thirty years old. The long-sleeved jersey and drawstring bottoms were ratty and threadbare. It was a hot night. At least he hadn't decided to sleep in his boxers.

He scowled, deciding that he'd never forgive Wolfwood for this one. And, if at all possible, he was mad at Millie, too. Lousy friends they turned out to be. He started down the hall, praying to everything merciful in the universe, that Meryl was already asleep.

He turned the doorknob and cracked open the door as quietly as possible. Obviously, the universe was against him as well, as Meryl was sitting at a desk in her nightshirt, her head turning as he entered.

“Vash,” she started, surprised. “What are you...?” Realization flitted across her face and her expression contorted into a disapproving scowl. “Where's Millie?”

Probably rounding second-base, Vash thought, but kept it to himself. “She, er... well, Wolfwood... Can I stay here?” he blurted out.

Meryl rolled her eyes. “Traitors,” she muttered. She smiled at him then, but it seemed a bit nervous and forced. “Of course you can stay here. That's Millie's bed on the right.”

Vash sighed his relief as he sat down on the bed. Meryl turned back to her typewriter, rereading what she'd already composed before starting to type again.

“What are you working on?” Vash asked, feeling awkward with only the clacking noises of the machine in the air.

“I'm writing to Karen, to let her know you got here okay, and to chew her out for telling you where to find me.”

Vash grinned. “Don't be too hard on her. I'm very persuasive, you know. It's all that boyish charm I've got.”

“Yeah right, broomhead. I know sandworms that are better with women than you are.” She regretted the statement the moment it left her mouth, as it left them both feeling uncomfortable. “I didn't mean...”

Vash chuckled nervously, “No, you're right. Wolfwood says I'm a hopeless cause.”

“Oh really?” Meryl quirked a curious brow. “What else does Wolfwood say?”

For the briefest of moments Vash considered consulting her on the meanings behind Wolfwood's metaphors regarding women, but luckily his brain-to-mouth filter seemed to be functioning, and he shrugged instead. “I try not to pay too much attention to what he says.”

Meryl laughed. “That's probably wise. Anyway, I'm also sending Karen a report under Millie's name that will make Bernardelli think she's trying to track me down in the outer Palliden region.”

Vash frowned. “Why are you doing that?”

“So they'll have a harder time finding us, of course.”

“No... I mean, why are you doing this? All of this?”

Meryl forced herself to look at him. Did he really not know? “To protect you, Vash.”

“Why?” he pleaded.

Meryl felt the beginnings of tears and turned away. “That's a stupid question.”

“I don't think so.” Vash rose from the bed, placing his hands on her shoulders to turn her. “I've been thinking a lot, and... see, you're really important to me. I...” God, I'm an idiot with words. I'm going to say something stupid. I just know it. “The thing is, I really missed you, and... I think...”

“Stop it, Vash.” Meryl pushed his hands away and rose from the desk, walking a few steps away so that she could face the corner, everything but the outline of her back hidden from his view. “You don't owe me anything, okay?”

Vash took a step after her and hesitated, confused. “Owe you?”

Meryl felt the heat in her face, wondered if her ears were red beneath her hair. She took a deep breath and blurted, “I know the type of women you seem to... react to, and they're, well... all blond and tall and shapely...”

Vash laughed as he took another step toward her. She was insecure? “Hey, if I want to see 'tall, blond, and shapely' all I have to do is look in a mirror...”

“Vash,” she warned, turning on him with arms crossed, her expression irritated but nakedly sensitive. He softened; her insecurity didn't seem so funny once he realized it was a result of the casual way he'd often disregarded her.

“C'mon,” he said, drawing her towards the room's chest of drawers, a mirror suspended above.

“Vash,” she protested, “what are you...?”

“Just shut up, would ya?” He turned her so her back was against his chest, facing them so they could see their reflections. “Okay, I'm not really sure what I'm doing here, but just try to relax and don't be scared. This may feel a little funny.”

Meryl felt a twinge of alarm at the cryptic warning. She opened her mouth to complain, but shut it again as her perception of her own reflection began to subtly shift.

Suddenly, she seemed to glow. Not literally, but in the way that certain people are just radiant. Her skin was flawless, lambent porcelain. Her hair a soft, shiny curtain flirting with the slender arch of her eyebrows. The color of her eyes came into breathtaking, detailed focus. The pale slate near the pupil blending into a delicate lavender, rimmed at the edge of the iris with the dark smoke of an angry cloud. Her lashes were a black, feathery frame. Her eyes, her mouth, the bones of her face, were delicate and strong, a paradox that was sublimely beautiful in its balance. The frame of her body was lithe and long, despite her petite stature, the strength and grace of a dancer and a warrior, all at once. Her gaze trailed down the length of her neck, to the more-than-appealing curve of her shoulder, the slim perfection of her collarbone. There was the subtlest hint of a blush in her cheeks that repeated itself on her chest, its rosy glow disappearing into the open 'V' of her nightshirt.

Meryl was confused at first. Wondered why she was practically leering at herself in open awe, until she registered the tickle of his presence in the back of her mind. Vash. She met his gaze in the mirror as he draped his arm across her chest. He watched her in the mirror, his chin coming to rest on her shoulder, and she realized that what she was seeing was how he saw her. It was his perception of her projected into her mind.

It could have felt invasive. And normally, Meryl would have been furious with him for tampering with her mind. But his presence there was gentle and light, tremulous at first, but growing in strength as he flexed the unpracticed ability. She could feel that her thoughts were her own. He hadn't forced himself in, like it had been with Knives. What he was sharing left him more unguarded than her. And what she saw through his eyes...

Meryl quickly turned away, facing him with a desperate sadness. “Vash, we can't.”

He nodded, offered her the smallest of smiles. “I know.”

She wiped roughly at the tears that had begun to fall of their own accord. God, but she hated to cry. “It's impossible. You're...”

“I know,” he said again, his logical mind suppressing the part that wanted to tell her he didn't care. “I just... I wanted you to know...”

Everything about him was gentle. He looked so honest, so assailable... “I'm sorry,” he said, and she couldn't look at him anymore.

“Me too,” she replied, stepping out of the circle of his arms. She went to her bed and switched off the light. “I'm going to sleep.”

“Okay.” His voice was emotionless in the dark and Meryl felt her gut tighten with regret as she curled into the sheets.

Vash tried not to think, not to feel. Just got into bed and rolled over to face the wall. He couldn't say he was disappointed or surprised, as he'd never really had a plan or expectations to go along with it. This was for the best. Meryl deserved more, and even just showing her what he had at the mirror had been close to the most selfish thing he'd ever done. He would take her presence in his life in whatever way he could, for as long as he could. He would find a way to be content with that.

After a few minutes he heard the rustle of Meryl's sheets, and turned in surprise as he felt his bed bend under her weight. “Meryl...?” but she placed a hand softly over his mouth.

“Be quiet, broomhead,” she whispered. “If you say anything you'll just ruin it.”

He nodded and she removed her hand. She slipped beneath his sheets, her limbs tangling with his as she curled around him. She laid her head on his chest with a gentle sigh, her arm circling his waist. Soon, the warmth of her body seeped through their clothing, and he could feel the weight of each curve and limb against him. His arm was threaded through the empty space her waist left against the mattress, coming around to hold her, his artificial hand resting on her hip. His other arm came naturally across them, hand settling at the back of her neck, his thumb on the nape.

For Meryl, the world became a pinpoint on that thumb. It found a little curve of bone above her shoulders and brushed back and forth across it in a gentle rhythm. But she could feel such desperation in the action, a non-existent tremor that betrayed what the rest of him wanted.

She closed her eyes, allowed herself to feel the tremble of energy between them, but not allowing herself to give into it. Who was she being more cruel to: Vash, or herself? But after what she'd seen, despite the futility of the circumstance, Meryl needed something. A part of her knew it had been an imprudent impulse to follow, but the part of her that didn't care won. She forced logical thought from her mind, damning the consequences as she focused on that ardent thumb, allowing herself a measure of contentment as she drifted off to sleep.