Trigun Fan Fiction ❯ After the Fall ❯ Potential Energy ( Chapter 13 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: GirlInterpreted 
Rating for language and sexually suggestive content.
Anime/Manga: Trigun Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Drama / Adventure / Action / Sci-fi | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 06.01.2007 | Pages: 5 | Words: 8.2K | Visits: 927 | Status: Work In Progress
Rating for language and sexually suggestive content.
Anime/Manga: Trigun Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Drama / Adventure / Action / Sci-fi | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 06.01.2007 | Pages: 5 | Words: 8.2K | Visits: 927 | Status: Work In Progress
Title:After the Fall
Author:Girl.Interpreted
Betas:Alaena Night & Sugar Pill & Abaddon Nox (goddess trio)
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/nope, still not telling
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: Last time: Huzzah! Millie's brother got hitched, and wouldn't you know who crashed the party? Well, Vash of course. Thus ensued the long-anticipated Vash/Meryl reunion. As you know, those two are more angsty than a Dashboard Confessional album. And so, they danced around each other and the nature of their would-be/could-be relationship like a pair of nervous pit fighters. It looked as though Vash might actually make a move, but wouldn't you know it: Millie's brother had to open his big-fat mouth, successfully ruining the moment and throwing the bet. (You remember 'the bet', don't you? Chapter two?) Meanwhile, Knives got nostalgic in a cold-sleep chamber, and decided that he doesn't really mind humans so much... as long as they're unconscious. What is up with that guy? Back to the Thompson farm! Millie did her best naughty-schoolgirl impression, sneaking into her boyfriend's room when her folks weren't looking. Which, of course, meant Vash was out on his ass. Surely, a priest would show mercy? No such luck. Spikey was stuck bunking with short girl. (Think Wolfwood and Meryl planned it that way? I certainly wouldn't put it past them.) Meryl got a peek at herself through Vash's eyes (sigh!) and quickly latched onto the many reasons why a relationship between them would be impossible, by giving no reason whatsoever. Vash seemed to agree with her (non)assessment, and the two bunked down separately. It wasn't long, however, before Meryl slipped and fell into Vash's bed (whoops!), which was okay, because we all know that an innocent cuddle does not (in anyway) represent an admission (of anything), right? Riiiiiiiiight.
A/N: If I remember correctly, there are a few manga easter egg references in here, as well as one to entirely different anime series. Happy hunting! I hope you are all enjoying your summer vacations. I'm not, because I am old and don't get one. Bleh! This chapter is nice and lengthy, and I do hope that you enjoy it. Also, I do hope that you review and let me know whether or not you enjoyed it. Onward...!
Chapter 13: Potential Energy
It was routine for Vash the Stampede to wake up a few hours before first light. He didn't require much sleep. As long as he wasn't sporting any new bullet holes, or a particularly nasty hangover, a few hours would suffice. In general, he had a lot more to accomplish before breakfast than the average person. This morning was no different, and he found his eyes open, senses alert, in the still darkened hours of predawn.
What was decidedly not routine about this particular morning, was the bundle of sleeping, feminine warmth curled around and on top of him. She had barely shifted through the night. Their limbs were still threaded and tangled. The bulk of her weight was across his left arm, the prosthetic one, a fact for which he was grateful. Otherwise, he was sure it would have fallen asleep by now. She had rolled farther into him, so that she could now be more accurately described as sleeping on her stomach, than on her side. Actually, she was kind of sleeping on his stomach: one of her legs thrown across his hip so that it came to rest between his own, the rest of her sprawled over his abdomen and chest. Her hair was a tickling softness beneath his chin. He could feel the gentle roll of breath over the pair of lips that had come to rest on his collarbone.
Vash realized that he'd never woken up with a woman in his arms. That is, unless one counted the nights he'd spent in Rem's bed when he was very young, which, given his current circumstances, he did not. There were precious few places where Meryl's bare skin touched his own, but even this limited contact was quickly educating him on the difference between the two scenarios.
It was actually, really nice. And, he was kind of starting to freak out.
He briefly considered a strategy of simply falling back to sleep. But, considering that every nerve he owned appeared to have suddenly become hypersensitive, he doubted that would be possible. So, he could either just lay here... no, that wasn't going to happen. His anxiety was increasing exponentially, and the logistics of their physical position was making it all but impossible to keep his hands to himself. Never mind that it was she who was practically accosting him; she was going to wake up and smack the hell out of him any second now. Is that why he was so nervous? Was he afraid of her reaction? Probably not, an interior voice taunted. Funny, that little voice sounded an awful lot like Wolfwood.
Enough! Vash willfully silenced any further debate over the source of his discomfort, and set himself to action: escape. He started by testing his mobility, assessing how difficult it would be to disentangle himself without waking her. Damn. He was going to need her cooperation to get free.
“Meryl,” he whispered as he cautiously attempted to roll her away from him. Luckily, she didn't wake. Unluckily, she responded with a gentle mewl of protest, her hand bunching in the fabric of his shirt. Her hips rolled against him slightly as she snuggled closer. Oh shit. Vash closed his eyes and swallowed hard. Had she been conscious, he would have called it a dirty trick. If she woke up now, she'd really pummel him.
Get out now! He bent one of his legs to dislodge hers and used her shoulder to push her away from him, rolling himself in the opposite direction at the same time. He tumbled to the floor with a heavy thud, and quickly sat up, peering cautiously over the edge of the mattress.
She appeared to still be sleeping. He stood and leaned over her, trying to see her face. Her eyes were closed and she wore a small pout, her body curling in on itself at the loss of warmth. The plan was a success! he congratulated himself. Good job! Then he noticed the dull ache in his hip where he'd landed on the floor. Owwie! his inner-dialogue whined. Girls are hard work.
He watched her sleep a moment longer before turning away. Why had she done that last night? Gotten into bed with him? What did it mean? Thinking about the implications was already giving him a heartburn. Much better to simply focus on the comforting normalcy of routine. Deciding that he could skip meditation, he got back on the floor. Three-hundred push-ups, starting now.
<><><><><><><><& gt;<><><><><><><><><> <><><><><><><><><>< ;><><><><><><><><>
< br> “Is the time upon us, then?”
“They are reunited. Just as we had hoped.”
“Yes. But, they are yet fractured. This one in particular is... distracted.”
“They will need time, yes. However, the collective is reforming. Can you not feel it?”
“I can, but they are unaware. They stumble through darkness. You know that I do not trust the humans. They are a source of imbalance. How do they function without a hive?”
“They connect through their emotional empathy.”
“Emotions? I do not understand this. We have discussed this before. Their methods of communication are unpredictable. They are dangerous.”
“And yet, we require them. Also, our brother will not ignore their plight.”
“Your brothers... are you certain we can rely on them?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“We have faith in them.”
“Faith? This is something else I cannot understand. The survival of my race depends on them, as well. Why should I support them?”
“Because... you have no other choice.”
<><><><><><>< ;><><><><><><><><><&g t;<><><><><><><><><>& lt;><><><><><><><><>< ><><><>
Hup!
Hup!
The sound reached Meryl, disrupting a dream so that its details shattered.
Hup!
Her hazy mind recognized it as a voice, a familiar voice. She rolled in its direction, sitting up and covering her mouth to stifle a yawn.
“Hup!”
She blinked a few times to clear the bleariness and was met by the sight of Vash, upside down with his feet in the air. He was balancing his full weight on one arm with the other tucked behind his back. The supporting limb trembled slightly as he bent it, lowering himself until his face nearly touched the floor before straightening it again, raising himself up to where he began. “Hup!”
“Holy shit, Vash!”
Her startled outburst broke his concentration and he fell, the back of his neck and shoulders slamming into the floor as his feet bent over his head. He looked at her, upside down from between his knees. Wincing through a smile, he greeted, “Morning, Meryl.”
Meryl stared wide-eyed and dumb for a moment before the door burst open. Vash tried to turn his pinned head as Wolfwood stormed through the entryway, his stance indicating he was prepared for a fight. “What the fuck was that!?” His eyes quickly scanned the room, seeing Meryl sitting in bed (wasn't her bed on the other side of the room?), and Spikey bent in half and upside down on the floor. The priest's posture relaxed as he grumbled, “I kind of want to know... but I'm not even going to ask.” Meryl opened her mouth to hastily explain, but Wolfwood was already leaving, calling over his shoulder, “And it's hot as hell in here! Open a window, or something.” The door shut behind him with a jerk just shy of a slam.
“That was unbelievable, Vash. How do you do that?”
Vash rolled, righting himself so that he was sitting cross-legged. He rubbed the back of his neck where it had hit the unforgiving floor. “I'm pretty strong.”
“So I gathered.” Meryl took in his appearance as he grabbed his discarded shirt, using it as a make-shift towel to wipe off the sheen of sweat that covered him. Wolfwood had been correct in his assessment: it was hot in here. As recognition dawned on her, she slid to the floor and crawled toward him. “Vash! The grate! Where did it go?” She curiously placed a hand on his chest where the lattice of metal had been attached, too stunned to notice how he shied away from her touch.
“Knives put me in a bulb to heal me and all the metal got absorbed.” Meryl moved around him on her knees as he spoke, noticing that the scars were softer, more flesh-toned, as opposed to the angry red welts they had been. She lifted his arm as she explored, and ducked under it to inspect his back. He was right. All the bolts and plates were gone.
“Meryl.” She turned at his voice and found her face very close to his. She had one hand on his chest and was using the other to raise up his arm. If he lowered it, he'd be holding her. Meryl's cheeks flushed. It seemed she'd gotten carried away in her excitement. Vash looked at her nervously, and she could feel the corded tension in the muscles beneath her fingers. “I'm all sweaty.”
She was a little embarrassed (okay, maybe more than a little) but she wasn't about to let him slide on that lame excuse. “Is that why you don't want me to touch you?”
He was unprepared for the question, and at this proximity he couldn't hide it from her. “No, I... doesn't it bother you...? They're pretty gruesome.”
She smiled softly. “No, Vash. It doesn't bother me.” He looked away and rose, stepping away from her as he moved to open the window. She frowned. “Would you be more comfortable if it did?” she asked.
He didn't turn to face her, gazing out on the lush greenery of the Thompson farm. “Maybe,” he admitted quietly.
Without warning she embraced him from behind, her arms across his chest and her body pressed against his back. “Meryl!” he protested. “I'm all... sweaty!”
“Oh, shut up, you dumb jerk,” she scolded, her grip tightening for a moment before she placed a kiss between his shoulder blades and stepped away. He turned, shocked and unsure of what he felt, or of what he should say. She was already gathering her toiletries and a towel, “Well anyway, I was sweaty, too. The next time you're going to exercise indoors, please be good enough to open the window before you begin.” She smiled warmly as she handed him a towel. “We should get cleaned up, and then I'll see about helping with breakfast. I don't know about you, but I'm starving.”
Vash's jaw was hanging open and he really didn't care. He was overcome by the desperate desire to kiss her, and he most likely would have if she hadn't stepped away from him at that moment. She slipped her feet into the slippers by her bed, and headed through the door towards the closest bathroom. “See you soon!” she called with hasty levity as she disappeared.
Vash watched her go without a word, his expression still wonderstruck as he sat heavily on the bed. Not for the first time, he was overcome by a stumbling cloud of contradictory emotions, and the distinct sensation that he was in a world of trouble.
<><><><><><><>& lt;><><><><><><><><>< ><><><><><><><><><> ;<><><><><><><><><>&l t;><><><>
Wolfwood caught up with Vash as he crossed through a flower garden on his way to the main house. The outlaw had abandoned the ridiculous get-up he'd been wearing at the reception in favor of a much more ordinary pair of jeans and plain button-up. There was just something about seeing Vash in a tailored suit that made it difficult for the priest to keep a straight face.
As he walked, Vash appeared to be so absorbed in staring at the landscape, that he hardly registered anything else. It wasn't often that Wolfwood was able sneak up on his friend unawares, and he took full advantage of this opportunity now.
“Hey, needle noggin!” Wolfwood loudly chimed as he slipped within a pace of the gunman.
Vash's reaction was priceless as ever: he jumped, he scrambled, he screamed, and eventually, he scowled. “Good morning, Wolfwood,” he greeted when he'd composed himself, noting (and not for the first time) that the more broadly the priest smiled at him, the more evil the expression appeared.
“And what a good morning it is!” the priest exclaimed, that smile still fixed, wide, and full of quasi-wicked intent. “You're not still sore at me for last night, are you?”
“Yes,” Vash glared. “As a matter of fact, I am.”
Wolfwood ignored the outlaw's querulous tone, his ability to hear without really listening honed like an ancient art. “Come on now! Don't be like that. How'd it go? What happened?”
“Nothing happened,” Vash answered decidedly, his clipped reply and hunching shoulders indicating a finality on the subject that Wolfwood was all too happy to ignore.
“Really? That's funny... I could have sworn that was your bed she was in.” Wolfwood lit a cigarette, grin still fixed around it.
“Wolfwood...” Vash warned.
“So'd she sleep in your bed or not?”
Vash quickened his pace as he became increasingly flustered. And this man calls himself a priest? “Yes! But nothing happened, okay? Leave it alone, would ya?”
“Ah, Spikey...” Wolfwood shook his head sadly, stopping Vash with a hand he placed on his shoulder. “You disappoint me. We practically handed you that opportunity on a silver platter. How'd you foul it up this time? Don't you listen to me?”
“Oh I listen,” Vash said defensively. “You just don't make very much sense most of the time. And I didn't 'foul up' anything! ...How'd it go with Millie?” he defiantly demanded.
“Think carefully, Spikey...” Wolfwood cautioned, all the while maintaining that falsely blithesmile. “I know you're trying to turn the table here, but you don't really want a detailed answer to that question, now do you?”
Vash flushed, gaping a moment before he scowled and turned on his heel. He was tempted to try his hand at strangling the priest, but decided that wrestling matches before breakfast were out of the question. He retreated in the direction of the main house, aware of Wolfwood as he followed, certain that that priest was smiling smugly around that omnipresent cigarette.
As he stepped onto a particular stretch of lawn, Vash suddenly felt a vaguely familiar hum of energy. His brow creased as he bent to one knee, his hand pressing into the blades of grass. “What is it?” Wolfwood asked, his tone shifting to concern. But Vash had all but blocked him out, the priest's voice a distant echo as he focused his awareness into the earth.
There. He could feel them. The plants of September, their energy running along the mineral vein on which he stood. And beyond them, he could sense the rest of his sisters, connected individuals within a single consciousness. The mineral veins! A map opened in his mind. He could see where the ships had crashed, all of them landing on this network of veins in the soil. It was spread out like a fan, a giant delta where a great network of rivers had once met an ocean. The soil here was richer, full of deposits that his sisters could use as a ready supply of raw materials. There had been subtle shifts in soil chemistry, little changes since the Fall that Vash saw as time fell open to him. They're so patient. They've been connected along these veins all along. It's what supports the collective, their collective mind. They've been preparing... waiting? Vash's train of thought was broken as his sisters greeted his presence. It was a warm nudge inside his mind. He felt the pride of the September plants as they showed him the changes made, the vastness and diversity of life on this little farm. He could feel each human who inhabited it, the plants keeping track of them with affection and gratitude. The Thompsons had been good to this land. It wouldn't have been possible for the plants without their assistance and dedication.
Vash was vaguely aware of being pulled deeper into the plant mind. His knowledge of the earth, of the changes on a molecular level, became more and more detailed as his sense of his own body lessened. And then, he began to feel something else. Something alien. What? Another hive mind? It was as if someone else were listening in on the line. It noticed him and he felt another pull at his consciousness, a harsh exploration. A thrill of alarm went through him as he felt himself being overpowered. His awareness of his corporeal self began to slip.
“Vash! Dammit! Answer me!”
He grabbed onto the voice, used it as leverage to pull himself out. He found himself looking up into a very worried pair of lavender eyes.
“Hey, short girl.”
“Vash, are you okay?” she asked.
She was kneeling in the grass beside him. He had no idea how long she'd been there. Was he okay? He was a little shaken, but... “Yeah. Thank you. I'm fine now.”
“What the hell was that?” Wolfwood demanded. He was standing over the gunman, Millie looking down with concern by his side.
“Something I'm going to have to talk to Knives about.”
Wolfwood practically growled. “Well, aren't we cryptic today? I expect a better answer than that!”
“Wolfwood!” Meryl glared up at him and they stared at each other a moment before the priest shrugged and turned away. Meryl looked back at Vash. “You sure you're alright?”
He smiled gently. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”
Her brow creased slightly. “I hate it when you apologize.”
“Sorry,” he replied before he could think better of it, and her brow creased more deeply. He laughed nervously before she could respond, hastily rising to his feet.
“So, we're getting on the sandsteamer tonight?” Millie interjected, and Vash smiled gratefully at the change in topic.
“Yep!” he beamed. “Already got the tickets and everything!”
Rebuked, but still irritated, and agitated further by the gunman's phony, flaky grin, Wolfwood asked, “And why, exactly are we getting on a sandsteamer? I'm just a little curious, considering the fact that we're supposed to be laying low?”
“It's just an orca-class,” Vash replied. “It'll get us to March in a week and from there the route to New Oregon won't take us through anywhere with a large population. We'll board separately and I'll stay in my cabin the whole time. No one will bother us in first class. I promise.”
“He promises,” Wolfwood grumbled sarcastically. “That's never a good sign.”
“I hate sandsteamers,” Meryl groused.
“Why's that, Sempai?” Millie looked honestly confused.
“Because, Millie,” Meryl started peevishly, “somehow we always get taken hostage!”
“Oh, yeah!” Millie laughed, and Meryl rolled her eyes. “But we always manage to do just fine. Remember last time you fired my stun-gun with your feet? That was really something!”
“No shit?” Wolfwood asked as Vash simultaneously offered a, 'wow, really?'
Meryl blushed deeply. “It was really just luck...”
“Now, don't be modest, Sempai,” Millie interrupted as she launched into the full story of how Meryl had managed to land a kick between their captor's legs, and then, with arms bound, caught the stun-gun in midair, using her feet to launch the criminal against the opposite wall.
Wolfwood draped an arm around Meryl's shoulders as she fidgeted nervously. He turned to Vash, laughing in a way that Meryl found exaggerated and slightly obnoxious, “Hear that, Spikey? No worries. We've got our own personal bodyguard!”
Meryl tossed his arm off and stormed towards the house. Vash caught up to her and quietly asked, “Did you really do that?”
“Yeah,” she answered sharply as she crossed her arms. “Why? Don't believe I could?”
“No,” he said, his smile warm and appreciative, “I'm sure you could.”
If it was at all possible, Meryl's blush deepened. She quickened her pace, smiling a little as she left him behind and entered the main house.
<><><><><><><>< ;><><><><><><><><><&g t;<><><><><><><><><>& lt;><><><><><><><><>< ><><><>
“Lizzie!” Lina Fray called out to her friend as she passed by the door to her lab. She had been trying, unsuccessfully, to gain an audience with the senior scientist for several days. Lina suspected that she was purposefully avoiding her, and this sentiment was solidified as Elisabeth hurried past the doorway, acting as if she hadn't heard her.
“Lizzie, wait!” Lina shot through the door and caught the other woman by the arm. Luckily, the dresses Elisabeth preferred prevented her from moving at any speed greater than a dignified stroll.
“Oh, Lina!” Elisabeth smiled, her expression imitating one of pleasant surprise, even as her eyes momentarily darted about for an escape. “I didn't see you there.”
“Sure.” Lina made no effort to hide her dubiety. She wasn't interested in playing dumb. “Why have you been avoiding me? And the Professor, too? He won't see me.”
“Don't be silly, Lina. I'm doing no such thing.” Elisabeth fixed her with that calm smile, inscrutable eyes that ignited a flare of anger through Lina. “You know how busy everyone has been with the new research.”
“New research,” Lina spat it out like a curse. “And what exactly is this 'new research'? I don't like being kept in the dark. Especially when no one is willing to tell me why. And now I can't even access my own research!”
“What are you going on about?” Elisabeth asked with prim, condescending disinterest. Lizzie's attitude toward her had changed over the past month and Lina was beyond aggravation; she was positively wrathful.
“The Sandworm Project: I spearheaded that research, and now the dataframe won't acknowledge my access codes when I try to bring up the files!”
Elisabeth's lips momentarily formed a thin line before she recomposed herself. “That's not an area of study to which you are currently assigned.”
“That's not the point!” Lina exploded.
“The point, Angelina,” Elisabeth countered, her tone turning authoritative and castigating, “is that you are my subordinate, and you would do well to remember your position. Any research you conduct becomes the property of the Union, and if you are denied access, you have no grounds on which to protest!” Elisabeth's brow smoothed as she straightened the sleeve of her dress. She looked on Lina with haughty supremacy, and added, “When I assign you a task, I expect that you will give it your full attention without question. Your behavior today has been inappropriate and unprofessional. Given your youth, I am willing to overlook it, but this is the first and last time I will extend such a generosity.”
Lina clenched her jaw so tightly that it actually made her ears ache. With difficulty, she managed to respond, “Yes, Miss Elisabeth.”
Elisabeth gave her a clipped nod, and turned to leave. Lina placed a hand gently on her arm, causing the woman to pause and glare at the appendage as if the gesture had been meant as a physical affront. “I beg your pardon, ma'am,” Lina said as she withdrew, “but I wondered if you might do me a small favor: I have a gift for the Professor. Chance made it for him, but I haven't had the opportunity to deliver it myself.”
Elisabeth softened, and for a moment, even seemed regretful. “Of course, Lina. I'm meeting with him now. I'd be happy to bring it.”
Lina returned to her lab, which also served as an office, emerging again with a paper flower, crudely pinched into a small, lopsided clay pot. Elisabeth smiled softly as she accepted the present. “It's adorable.”
“She's very proud of it,” Lina added with a gentle sadness that further softened Elisabeth's reproachful demeanor.
“I'm sure he'll love it,” she smiled. “And, I'll let him know that you'd like to see him. He's been very busy, but... I'll see what I can do, Lina.”
Lina gave her a grateful half-smile and returned to her lab as Elisabeth set off down the hall. Once inside, Lina closed the door behind her and locked it so that an access code would be required to reopen it. She stood for a moment, breathing hard as tears welled behind her tightly closed eyes. The raging emotions swelled until she broke off in an explosion of occluded, impotent frustration, her fist slamming into a wall.
She hadn't wanted to resort to this. It was underhanded and manipulative. This wasn't the way she treated her friends and family. But Elisabeth and the Professor had left her with no other options. Still, this hadn't been how she'd wanted to gather her information.
She sat down at her desk, putting on a set of headphones as she adjusted the receiver until the signal became clear. A web of apprehension tightened her stomach as she tried to prepare herself for what the hidden listening device in Chance's 'gift' would reveal.
<><><><><><><>&l t;><><><><><><><><><& gt;<><><><><><><><><> <><><><><><><><><>< ;><><><><>
Vash had boarded the steamer before the rest of his friends, several hours before it set sail. Millie and Wolfwood were slotted to check in next, traveling together, and like him, under pseudonyms. Lastly, only an hour before the Endurance embarked for March, Meryl was supposed to have joined the crowd of passengers.
Vash had been very good. He'd stayed in his cabin the whole time, just like he promised. He hoped that the rest of his friends had managed to get onboard without any trouble.
The sandsteamer had been moving for a few hours now, and Vash was starting to get restless. No, he had started to get restless about fifteen minutes after he'd entered his room. He'd done everything he could think of to keep himself entertained and distracted. Including, but not limited to, setting up a race track for a pair of sand-beetles that happened to be living in his quarters. He was now far beyond antsy, pacing the floor and desperately trying to come up with a rational justification for stepping outside.
Well, the ship was only an orca-class, but it still had over a hundred passengers. He could easily remain unnoticed in a crowd of that size. If he put the suit back on, he'd blend right in with the rest of the business men and women who used this steamer as a shuttle for work between March and September. The more he thought about it, the less necessary it seemed to stay cooped up in his cabin. Besides, people would find it odd if a passenger never left his room, right?
Vash was dressed, in the casino, and down two-hundred double-dollars within the hour. He had thought, with his knowledge of trajectories, weight of projectiles, and angles of impact, that roulette would be a piece of cake. What he forgot to take into account was his unerringly terrible luck. He whined an inarticulate complaint as the uncooperative little ball landed on black. “I thought for sure it was gonna be red,” he grumbled.
Just as he'd decided to cut his losses and return to his cabin, he heard a voice by his shoulder grind out a low warning: “Tongari... what are you doing?”
Vash turned to the priest, his hand reaching reflexively for the itchy spot on the nape of his neck, though Wolfwood had long-grown immune to the gesture's charm. “Uh... losing?”
Wolfwood watched as another pile of the gunman's chips were drawn away by the dealer. “I can see that. Why are you out of your room?”
Vash's posture turned just shy of defensive, and the priest was once again reminded of just how closely Vash could resemble a petulant child. “I got bored,” he complained.
Millie appeared before Wolfwood could further challenge Vash. She joined them from the direction of the card tables, a blithe grin fixed over her features. “Hey, Mr...” she hesitated, leaning close and whispering, “What's your name again?”
“This, dear, is Mr. Smith,” Wolfwood supplied, still eying Vash with annoyance.
“Hey, Mr. Smith! Isn't this fun? I just won six times in a row at... um, what was it?”
“Blackjack, honey,” Wolfwood answered, his amused adoration taking some of the bite out of the superior tone he'd been maintaining for Vash's benefit.
“Yeah, that's it! You should try it! It's really fun and easy and... hey? Aren't you supposed to be in your room?”
“You guys aren't in your room,” Vash protested.
Wolfwood pulled Vash away from the crowd at the table and hissed, “We don't have bounties on our heads.”
Vash ignored him and grumbled something about fairness, looking pleadingly toward Millie for support. Wolfwood wanted to hit him. “Look here, needle noggin...!”
“I understand,” Millie interjected before her boyfriend made a scene. “It must be awful lonely and boring all by yourself. Sempai must have felt the same way.”
“You mean she left her cabin, too!?” Wolfwood demanded.
“Uh huh,” Millie obliviously affirmed. “She said she was going to 'lay low' in the lounge.”
Wolfwood sighed heavily, turning his gaze to the ceiling. “Lord? Why?” He turned back to where Vash stood, intending to drag the man back to his cabin and lock him inside if necessary, but the gunman was already gone. “I hate when he does that,” he grumbled.
“Let him go,” Millie said with a wave of her hand. “Everything will work out.” Wolfwood had every intention of protesting the illogical optimism of such a statement, especially considering that they were talking about Vash, but Millie slipped her arm around his elbow and began to draw him back towards the card tables. “Come on, let's play some more Black Jake!”
<><><><><><><& gt;<><><><><><><><><> <><><><><><><><><>< ;><><><><><><><><><&g t;<><><><>
“A pretty girl all alone? Now that's a crime.”
Meryl had been preoccupied with the task of tearing a napkin into several hundred smaller pieces. It took a moment for her to realize that the voice was speaking to her. When she turned her head she was greeted by an unfamiliar face. He was generically handsome, probably in his twenties judging from the angular masculinity that had only just begun to supplant more rounded, boyish features. His expression was full of the self-assured importance that young men often have, freshly loosed into the world, before they've had a chance to learn how small they really are.
“My name's Alaster. You go to school in September? Graduated two years ago myself. I work for a technical union in March now. Just got a promotion, actually. Why are you headed to March? Interviewing for an internship?”
Meryl realized how young she must look. This guy took her for a coed, one of those wealthy enough to afford higher education at September University. In her neat business attire, the prim white blouse and dark pencil skirt, it wasn't too far off to imagine she was headed to an interview. She looked past Alaster's shoulder and noted a group of young men attempting to be inconspicuous. Wing-men. They cast the occasional glance in her direction, waiting to see if their buddy was about to strike-out.
Her immediate impulse was to tell him to try his luck elsewhere. Meryl wasn't interested. But a funny thought struck her: she wasn't 'Meryl'. At least, not tonight. And she had left her cabin because she hadn't wanted to be alone. This could prove to be a fun game.
“You got me!” she smiled. “One more semester at SU. I'm going to try and intern at the newspaper in March.”
Alaster grinned at her encouraging reaction. “A reporter, huh? I can see that,” he stated, his approval of her choice in profession suggesting he imagined she needed reassurance. “So what's your name?”
“Bridget. Nice to meet you, Alaster.”
“Likewise, Bridget.” He pulled his stool closer to hers and received a few congratulatory gestures from his friends that she pretended not to notice. He motioned for the bartender's attention. “So what you drinking, Bridge? Cosmo? Seabreeze?”
The stone-faced bartender set a pint of microbrewed ale in front of Alaster, and to both patrons' surprise, a rocks glass on 'Bridget's' coaster. “Double gin. Splash of tonic. On the rocks with two limes. Complements of the gentleman in the booth.” The bartender finished with a nod toward the back of the lounge. Alaster frowned at the blond seated on the velvet bench that curled around a table. The blond smiled obliviously and waved.
'Bridget' barely contained a smirk as she picked up her drink and rose from her stool. She turned to Alaster, as he watched her with confused eyes, undoubtedly wondering at what moment the tide had turned against him. “Sorry,” she said as she tipped her glass in a consolatory salute, “but this is a little more my speed.”
Alaster continued to glower at Vash as she made her way to the back of the room. When she took a seat next to him he remarked, “That guy sure is a spoilsport.”
“Thanks for the drink. However did you know?”
She had meant for the question to be sarcastic. Rhetorical, since they'd been drinking together often enough for him to know exactly what she preferred. But he surprised her by answering, “Lucky guess. I have a knack for that sort of thing... Bridget, was it?”
Hmm. So he wants to play? “That's right,” she said, not missing a beat as she adopted the sort of carefree expression she imagined a real coed would wear in this sort of situation. “And you are...?”
“Michael,” he grinned, extending his hand. She almost laughed out loud at the ridiculousness of it, but she managed not to break character as she shook his hand.
“And what brings you to March, Michael?”
“I'm a banker.”
“Really?” Bridget said, impressed. “That sounds important. Your parents must be very proud.”
“Of course. My father's a banker, too. But,” Michael grinned sheepishly, “they won't really be happy until I settle down and give them some grandkids.”
“Oh?” Bridget asked as she twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “And what's stopping you?”
“I suppose, I just haven't met the right girl.”
“Picky?”
“Oh, of course!” he said seriously. “I'm a bright, attractive man, with a bright, attractive future. I can't entrust that to just anyone.”
She laughed as he took a swig from his glass. “So then, you have any ideas as to what attributes you would require in the future Mrs. 'Bright-and-Attractive'?”
“Well,” he started, considering his glass as he swirled its contents, “she'd have to be smart. And beautiful, of course.”
“Of course.” Bridget stated as a matter-of-fact, nodding for him to continue.
“She'd have to be good with kids, an excellent cook, brave, determined... maybe a nice coed, with aspirations of journalism.” He smiled at her and there was a bit of laughter in the expression.
He looked the part. With his deceptively young and disarming features, the expensive suit, Meryl could almost pretend he was a banker. Her mind wandered, imagining a world where she really was 'Bridget', and he really was 'Michael'. What it would be like if they could have a nice, normal existence. Together.
“Sounds like a great life,” she said softly, suddenly very interested in the hem of her sleeve. “What more could a girl ask for? Roof over her head. Husband with a profitable and uneventful career. Two point three kids and a dog. The definition of womanly content, right?”
“Right.”
The regret in his voice made her turn, aware that he had mistaken the meaning of her words, thinking that she was voicing what she wanted. What surprised her was his expression of grief, the understanding that he truly wished he had it to offer her. He wanted to be Michael, if that's what she wanted. Is that what I want? What I need?
“No.” He turned sharply at the resolve in her tone, but his confusion was evident. Didn't he see? She didn't want to be a stupid college intern! She didn't want to get married to a banker! Our lives... they're difficult. They're complicated. But how could I want anything other than... She slid down the bench until she was against him. She tremulously reached for his face, but withdrew her outstretched fingertips before they met his cheek. Sighing, and at a loss for the right words, she simply entreated, “Let's just be us, Vash.”
He looked distressed, conflicted. “But...”
“I don't want to play anymore.” She laid her forehead on his shoulder, uncertain if it was out of exhaustion or simply the desire to touch him.
“Are you sure?” The way he asked made her feel as if he were offering an escape. She looked up at him. He was so serious, grave even. It filled her with a sudden weariness, as if she'd been fighting a war and wanted nothing better than to surrender. Only, looking at Vash, she couldn't tell who'd been conquered.
Her voice stuck in her throat and she couldn't answer. She could only sigh, her head rolling weightlessly into the hand he suddenly held against her cheek. “Meryl, look at me.” She didn't realize she'd closed her eyes until he spoke her name, and when she saw the determination in his, she became suddenly, acutely aware that he wasn't asking permission, he was going to...
Kiss her.
Truthfully, Meryl had never really enjoyed kissing. She could never get her mind around what the big deal was. In her limited experience, she found that it was abrupt, sloppy, and at best, boring. In fact, she'd often found it difficult to keep her attention focused in the midst of a kiss, her mind preferring to wander.
Vash's lips touched hers, the barest parting, the lightest touch imaginable, and she understood. Her attention focused so narrowly on his mouth, that if she'd been standing, she was certain she'd have lost the strength in her legs. She was already dizzy, forced to close her eyes as her senses threatened to overwhelm her. He kissed her, and yet, he didn't. He was holding back, moving so slowly, savoring so fully, that she found she was forced to pay full attention to even the slightest detail of his touch. She became hyper-aware of texture, taste, the thumb that caressed her temple as the rest of his fingers curled behind her ear. He pulled just far enough away that she could still sense his mouth hovering less than a millimeter above hers.
It was amazing. It was torture.
Meryl felt she was of two minds. One was so utterly enthralled by the delicacy, that it endeavored to maintain the touch that was not touching, afraid that the minutiae of sensations would be lost in any increase of pace or pressure. The other cried out for release from the maddening build of potential energy, desiring nothing more than to pull him toward her, to discover if a mouth could really bruise.
And this was just a kiss.
He pulled away from her, just far enough so that when she opened her eyes she could see his whole face. Judging by his ragged breathing, his slightly glazed eyes, and the flush that crept over his skin, he was experiencing the same deluge. His gaze flickered over her mouth as if it surprised him somehow, and a moment later his eyes flashed up to meet hers.
She couldn't take this anymore, and apparently, he agreed. His head tilted as he leaned into her again, his touch more confident, yet less controlled. His mouth moved against hers and she responded instinctively, deepening the kiss as she gripped the lapels of his jacket with both hands. She struggled to move slowly, to resist the urge to all but devour him, to see if she could disappear in that kiss.
“Wait! Stop!” she pleaded, gripped by a sudden and unnameable fear.
He managed to pull himself away, holding both of her wrists where he'd removed her grip on his collar. “Did I hurt you?” His brow was creased. Concern, guilt, confusion all managed to play out in his eyes. And in the background, she could still discern desire. She wondered if he realized he was still leaning toward her. She shook her head. He hadn't hurt her. Why had she stopped him? Why...? She looked up into those aqua eyes, the ones that were just slightly more blue than green, the ones that had transfixed her more times than she could count, the ones that always seemed to be pleading or in pain, and she realized that the odd power she'd always imagined they had was nothing extraordinary. It wasn't supernatural, it wasn't uncanny. His eyes effected her so, because they belonged to the man she was in love with, had been in love with, for longer than she knew.
Unable to speak past the lump in her throat, she fell against him, finding his mouth and attempting to kiss him senseless. It was as if he were melting into her. She felt every trace of tension, doubt, in him dissolve in the wake of her slow, ardent kiss. Only then did she pull away, breathing into his ear, “Where's your room?”
Author:Girl.Interpreted
Betas:Alaena Night & Sugar Pill & Abaddon Nox (goddess trio)
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/nope, still not telling
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: Last time: Huzzah! Millie's brother got hitched, and wouldn't you know who crashed the party? Well, Vash of course. Thus ensued the long-anticipated Vash/Meryl reunion. As you know, those two are more angsty than a Dashboard Confessional album. And so, they danced around each other and the nature of their would-be/could-be relationship like a pair of nervous pit fighters. It looked as though Vash might actually make a move, but wouldn't you know it: Millie's brother had to open his big-fat mouth, successfully ruining the moment and throwing the bet. (You remember 'the bet', don't you? Chapter two?) Meanwhile, Knives got nostalgic in a cold-sleep chamber, and decided that he doesn't really mind humans so much... as long as they're unconscious. What is up with that guy? Back to the Thompson farm! Millie did her best naughty-schoolgirl impression, sneaking into her boyfriend's room when her folks weren't looking. Which, of course, meant Vash was out on his ass. Surely, a priest would show mercy? No such luck. Spikey was stuck bunking with short girl. (Think Wolfwood and Meryl planned it that way? I certainly wouldn't put it past them.) Meryl got a peek at herself through Vash's eyes (sigh!) and quickly latched onto the many reasons why a relationship between them would be impossible, by giving no reason whatsoever. Vash seemed to agree with her (non)assessment, and the two bunked down separately. It wasn't long, however, before Meryl slipped and fell into Vash's bed (whoops!), which was okay, because we all know that an innocent cuddle does not (in anyway) represent an admission (of anything), right? Riiiiiiiiight.
A/N: If I remember correctly, there are a few manga easter egg references in here, as well as one to entirely different anime series. Happy hunting! I hope you are all enjoying your summer vacations. I'm not, because I am old and don't get one. Bleh! This chapter is nice and lengthy, and I do hope that you enjoy it. Also, I do hope that you review and let me know whether or not you enjoyed it. Onward...!
Chapter 13: Potential Energy
It was routine for Vash the Stampede to wake up a few hours before first light. He didn't require much sleep. As long as he wasn't sporting any new bullet holes, or a particularly nasty hangover, a few hours would suffice. In general, he had a lot more to accomplish before breakfast than the average person. This morning was no different, and he found his eyes open, senses alert, in the still darkened hours of predawn.
What was decidedly not routine about this particular morning, was the bundle of sleeping, feminine warmth curled around and on top of him. She had barely shifted through the night. Their limbs were still threaded and tangled. The bulk of her weight was across his left arm, the prosthetic one, a fact for which he was grateful. Otherwise, he was sure it would have fallen asleep by now. She had rolled farther into him, so that she could now be more accurately described as sleeping on her stomach, than on her side. Actually, she was kind of sleeping on his stomach: one of her legs thrown across his hip so that it came to rest between his own, the rest of her sprawled over his abdomen and chest. Her hair was a tickling softness beneath his chin. He could feel the gentle roll of breath over the pair of lips that had come to rest on his collarbone.
Vash realized that he'd never woken up with a woman in his arms. That is, unless one counted the nights he'd spent in Rem's bed when he was very young, which, given his current circumstances, he did not. There were precious few places where Meryl's bare skin touched his own, but even this limited contact was quickly educating him on the difference between the two scenarios.
It was actually, really nice. And, he was kind of starting to freak out.
He briefly considered a strategy of simply falling back to sleep. But, considering that every nerve he owned appeared to have suddenly become hypersensitive, he doubted that would be possible. So, he could either just lay here... no, that wasn't going to happen. His anxiety was increasing exponentially, and the logistics of their physical position was making it all but impossible to keep his hands to himself. Never mind that it was she who was practically accosting him; she was going to wake up and smack the hell out of him any second now. Is that why he was so nervous? Was he afraid of her reaction? Probably not, an interior voice taunted. Funny, that little voice sounded an awful lot like Wolfwood.
Enough! Vash willfully silenced any further debate over the source of his discomfort, and set himself to action: escape. He started by testing his mobility, assessing how difficult it would be to disentangle himself without waking her. Damn. He was going to need her cooperation to get free.
“Meryl,” he whispered as he cautiously attempted to roll her away from him. Luckily, she didn't wake. Unluckily, she responded with a gentle mewl of protest, her hand bunching in the fabric of his shirt. Her hips rolled against him slightly as she snuggled closer. Oh shit. Vash closed his eyes and swallowed hard. Had she been conscious, he would have called it a dirty trick. If she woke up now, she'd really pummel him.
Get out now! He bent one of his legs to dislodge hers and used her shoulder to push her away from him, rolling himself in the opposite direction at the same time. He tumbled to the floor with a heavy thud, and quickly sat up, peering cautiously over the edge of the mattress.
She appeared to still be sleeping. He stood and leaned over her, trying to see her face. Her eyes were closed and she wore a small pout, her body curling in on itself at the loss of warmth. The plan was a success! he congratulated himself. Good job! Then he noticed the dull ache in his hip where he'd landed on the floor. Owwie! his inner-dialogue whined. Girls are hard work.
He watched her sleep a moment longer before turning away. Why had she done that last night? Gotten into bed with him? What did it mean? Thinking about the implications was already giving him a heartburn. Much better to simply focus on the comforting normalcy of routine. Deciding that he could skip meditation, he got back on the floor. Three-hundred push-ups, starting now.
<><><><><><><><& gt;<><><><><><><><><> <><><><><><><><><>< ;><><><><><><><><>
< br> “Is the time upon us, then?”
“They are reunited. Just as we had hoped.”
“Yes. But, they are yet fractured. This one in particular is... distracted.”
“They will need time, yes. However, the collective is reforming. Can you not feel it?”
“I can, but they are unaware. They stumble through darkness. You know that I do not trust the humans. They are a source of imbalance. How do they function without a hive?”
“They connect through their emotional empathy.”
“Emotions? I do not understand this. We have discussed this before. Their methods of communication are unpredictable. They are dangerous.”
“And yet, we require them. Also, our brother will not ignore their plight.”
“Your brothers... are you certain we can rely on them?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“We have faith in them.”
“Faith? This is something else I cannot understand. The survival of my race depends on them, as well. Why should I support them?”
“Because... you have no other choice.”
<><><><><><>< ;><><><><><><><><><&g t;<><><><><><><><><>& lt;><><><><><><><><>< ><><><>
Hup!
Hup!
The sound reached Meryl, disrupting a dream so that its details shattered.
Hup!
Her hazy mind recognized it as a voice, a familiar voice. She rolled in its direction, sitting up and covering her mouth to stifle a yawn.
“Hup!”
She blinked a few times to clear the bleariness and was met by the sight of Vash, upside down with his feet in the air. He was balancing his full weight on one arm with the other tucked behind his back. The supporting limb trembled slightly as he bent it, lowering himself until his face nearly touched the floor before straightening it again, raising himself up to where he began. “Hup!”
“Holy shit, Vash!”
Her startled outburst broke his concentration and he fell, the back of his neck and shoulders slamming into the floor as his feet bent over his head. He looked at her, upside down from between his knees. Wincing through a smile, he greeted, “Morning, Meryl.”
Meryl stared wide-eyed and dumb for a moment before the door burst open. Vash tried to turn his pinned head as Wolfwood stormed through the entryway, his stance indicating he was prepared for a fight. “What the fuck was that!?” His eyes quickly scanned the room, seeing Meryl sitting in bed (wasn't her bed on the other side of the room?), and Spikey bent in half and upside down on the floor. The priest's posture relaxed as he grumbled, “I kind of want to know... but I'm not even going to ask.” Meryl opened her mouth to hastily explain, but Wolfwood was already leaving, calling over his shoulder, “And it's hot as hell in here! Open a window, or something.” The door shut behind him with a jerk just shy of a slam.
“That was unbelievable, Vash. How do you do that?”
Vash rolled, righting himself so that he was sitting cross-legged. He rubbed the back of his neck where it had hit the unforgiving floor. “I'm pretty strong.”
“So I gathered.” Meryl took in his appearance as he grabbed his discarded shirt, using it as a make-shift towel to wipe off the sheen of sweat that covered him. Wolfwood had been correct in his assessment: it was hot in here. As recognition dawned on her, she slid to the floor and crawled toward him. “Vash! The grate! Where did it go?” She curiously placed a hand on his chest where the lattice of metal had been attached, too stunned to notice how he shied away from her touch.
“Knives put me in a bulb to heal me and all the metal got absorbed.” Meryl moved around him on her knees as he spoke, noticing that the scars were softer, more flesh-toned, as opposed to the angry red welts they had been. She lifted his arm as she explored, and ducked under it to inspect his back. He was right. All the bolts and plates were gone.
“Meryl.” She turned at his voice and found her face very close to his. She had one hand on his chest and was using the other to raise up his arm. If he lowered it, he'd be holding her. Meryl's cheeks flushed. It seemed she'd gotten carried away in her excitement. Vash looked at her nervously, and she could feel the corded tension in the muscles beneath her fingers. “I'm all sweaty.”
She was a little embarrassed (okay, maybe more than a little) but she wasn't about to let him slide on that lame excuse. “Is that why you don't want me to touch you?”
He was unprepared for the question, and at this proximity he couldn't hide it from her. “No, I... doesn't it bother you...? They're pretty gruesome.”
She smiled softly. “No, Vash. It doesn't bother me.” He looked away and rose, stepping away from her as he moved to open the window. She frowned. “Would you be more comfortable if it did?” she asked.
He didn't turn to face her, gazing out on the lush greenery of the Thompson farm. “Maybe,” he admitted quietly.
Without warning she embraced him from behind, her arms across his chest and her body pressed against his back. “Meryl!” he protested. “I'm all... sweaty!”
“Oh, shut up, you dumb jerk,” she scolded, her grip tightening for a moment before she placed a kiss between his shoulder blades and stepped away. He turned, shocked and unsure of what he felt, or of what he should say. She was already gathering her toiletries and a towel, “Well anyway, I was sweaty, too. The next time you're going to exercise indoors, please be good enough to open the window before you begin.” She smiled warmly as she handed him a towel. “We should get cleaned up, and then I'll see about helping with breakfast. I don't know about you, but I'm starving.”
Vash's jaw was hanging open and he really didn't care. He was overcome by the desperate desire to kiss her, and he most likely would have if she hadn't stepped away from him at that moment. She slipped her feet into the slippers by her bed, and headed through the door towards the closest bathroom. “See you soon!” she called with hasty levity as she disappeared.
Vash watched her go without a word, his expression still wonderstruck as he sat heavily on the bed. Not for the first time, he was overcome by a stumbling cloud of contradictory emotions, and the distinct sensation that he was in a world of trouble.
<><><><><><><>& lt;><><><><><><><><>< ><><><><><><><><><> ;<><><><><><><><><>&l t;><><><>
Wolfwood caught up with Vash as he crossed through a flower garden on his way to the main house. The outlaw had abandoned the ridiculous get-up he'd been wearing at the reception in favor of a much more ordinary pair of jeans and plain button-up. There was just something about seeing Vash in a tailored suit that made it difficult for the priest to keep a straight face.
As he walked, Vash appeared to be so absorbed in staring at the landscape, that he hardly registered anything else. It wasn't often that Wolfwood was able sneak up on his friend unawares, and he took full advantage of this opportunity now.
“Hey, needle noggin!” Wolfwood loudly chimed as he slipped within a pace of the gunman.
Vash's reaction was priceless as ever: he jumped, he scrambled, he screamed, and eventually, he scowled. “Good morning, Wolfwood,” he greeted when he'd composed himself, noting (and not for the first time) that the more broadly the priest smiled at him, the more evil the expression appeared.
“And what a good morning it is!” the priest exclaimed, that smile still fixed, wide, and full of quasi-wicked intent. “You're not still sore at me for last night, are you?”
“Yes,” Vash glared. “As a matter of fact, I am.”
Wolfwood ignored the outlaw's querulous tone, his ability to hear without really listening honed like an ancient art. “Come on now! Don't be like that. How'd it go? What happened?”
“Nothing happened,” Vash answered decidedly, his clipped reply and hunching shoulders indicating a finality on the subject that Wolfwood was all too happy to ignore.
“Really? That's funny... I could have sworn that was your bed she was in.” Wolfwood lit a cigarette, grin still fixed around it.
“Wolfwood...” Vash warned.
“So'd she sleep in your bed or not?”
Vash quickened his pace as he became increasingly flustered. And this man calls himself a priest? “Yes! But nothing happened, okay? Leave it alone, would ya?”
“Ah, Spikey...” Wolfwood shook his head sadly, stopping Vash with a hand he placed on his shoulder. “You disappoint me. We practically handed you that opportunity on a silver platter. How'd you foul it up this time? Don't you listen to me?”
“Oh I listen,” Vash said defensively. “You just don't make very much sense most of the time. And I didn't 'foul up' anything! ...How'd it go with Millie?” he defiantly demanded.
“Think carefully, Spikey...” Wolfwood cautioned, all the while maintaining that falsely blithesmile. “I know you're trying to turn the table here, but you don't really want a detailed answer to that question, now do you?”
Vash flushed, gaping a moment before he scowled and turned on his heel. He was tempted to try his hand at strangling the priest, but decided that wrestling matches before breakfast were out of the question. He retreated in the direction of the main house, aware of Wolfwood as he followed, certain that that priest was smiling smugly around that omnipresent cigarette.
As he stepped onto a particular stretch of lawn, Vash suddenly felt a vaguely familiar hum of energy. His brow creased as he bent to one knee, his hand pressing into the blades of grass. “What is it?” Wolfwood asked, his tone shifting to concern. But Vash had all but blocked him out, the priest's voice a distant echo as he focused his awareness into the earth.
There. He could feel them. The plants of September, their energy running along the mineral vein on which he stood. And beyond them, he could sense the rest of his sisters, connected individuals within a single consciousness. The mineral veins! A map opened in his mind. He could see where the ships had crashed, all of them landing on this network of veins in the soil. It was spread out like a fan, a giant delta where a great network of rivers had once met an ocean. The soil here was richer, full of deposits that his sisters could use as a ready supply of raw materials. There had been subtle shifts in soil chemistry, little changes since the Fall that Vash saw as time fell open to him. They're so patient. They've been connected along these veins all along. It's what supports the collective, their collective mind. They've been preparing... waiting? Vash's train of thought was broken as his sisters greeted his presence. It was a warm nudge inside his mind. He felt the pride of the September plants as they showed him the changes made, the vastness and diversity of life on this little farm. He could feel each human who inhabited it, the plants keeping track of them with affection and gratitude. The Thompsons had been good to this land. It wouldn't have been possible for the plants without their assistance and dedication.
Vash was vaguely aware of being pulled deeper into the plant mind. His knowledge of the earth, of the changes on a molecular level, became more and more detailed as his sense of his own body lessened. And then, he began to feel something else. Something alien. What? Another hive mind? It was as if someone else were listening in on the line. It noticed him and he felt another pull at his consciousness, a harsh exploration. A thrill of alarm went through him as he felt himself being overpowered. His awareness of his corporeal self began to slip.
“Vash! Dammit! Answer me!”
He grabbed onto the voice, used it as leverage to pull himself out. He found himself looking up into a very worried pair of lavender eyes.
“Hey, short girl.”
“Vash, are you okay?” she asked.
She was kneeling in the grass beside him. He had no idea how long she'd been there. Was he okay? He was a little shaken, but... “Yeah. Thank you. I'm fine now.”
“What the hell was that?” Wolfwood demanded. He was standing over the gunman, Millie looking down with concern by his side.
“Something I'm going to have to talk to Knives about.”
Wolfwood practically growled. “Well, aren't we cryptic today? I expect a better answer than that!”
“Wolfwood!” Meryl glared up at him and they stared at each other a moment before the priest shrugged and turned away. Meryl looked back at Vash. “You sure you're alright?”
He smiled gently. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”
Her brow creased slightly. “I hate it when you apologize.”
“Sorry,” he replied before he could think better of it, and her brow creased more deeply. He laughed nervously before she could respond, hastily rising to his feet.
“So, we're getting on the sandsteamer tonight?” Millie interjected, and Vash smiled gratefully at the change in topic.
“Yep!” he beamed. “Already got the tickets and everything!”
Rebuked, but still irritated, and agitated further by the gunman's phony, flaky grin, Wolfwood asked, “And why, exactly are we getting on a sandsteamer? I'm just a little curious, considering the fact that we're supposed to be laying low?”
“It's just an orca-class,” Vash replied. “It'll get us to March in a week and from there the route to New Oregon won't take us through anywhere with a large population. We'll board separately and I'll stay in my cabin the whole time. No one will bother us in first class. I promise.”
“He promises,” Wolfwood grumbled sarcastically. “That's never a good sign.”
“I hate sandsteamers,” Meryl groused.
“Why's that, Sempai?” Millie looked honestly confused.
“Because, Millie,” Meryl started peevishly, “somehow we always get taken hostage!”
“Oh, yeah!” Millie laughed, and Meryl rolled her eyes. “But we always manage to do just fine. Remember last time you fired my stun-gun with your feet? That was really something!”
“No shit?” Wolfwood asked as Vash simultaneously offered a, 'wow, really?'
Meryl blushed deeply. “It was really just luck...”
“Now, don't be modest, Sempai,” Millie interrupted as she launched into the full story of how Meryl had managed to land a kick between their captor's legs, and then, with arms bound, caught the stun-gun in midair, using her feet to launch the criminal against the opposite wall.
Wolfwood draped an arm around Meryl's shoulders as she fidgeted nervously. He turned to Vash, laughing in a way that Meryl found exaggerated and slightly obnoxious, “Hear that, Spikey? No worries. We've got our own personal bodyguard!”
Meryl tossed his arm off and stormed towards the house. Vash caught up to her and quietly asked, “Did you really do that?”
“Yeah,” she answered sharply as she crossed her arms. “Why? Don't believe I could?”
“No,” he said, his smile warm and appreciative, “I'm sure you could.”
If it was at all possible, Meryl's blush deepened. She quickened her pace, smiling a little as she left him behind and entered the main house.
<><><><><><><>< ;><><><><><><><><><&g t;<><><><><><><><><>& lt;><><><><><><><><>< ><><><>
“Lizzie!” Lina Fray called out to her friend as she passed by the door to her lab. She had been trying, unsuccessfully, to gain an audience with the senior scientist for several days. Lina suspected that she was purposefully avoiding her, and this sentiment was solidified as Elisabeth hurried past the doorway, acting as if she hadn't heard her.
“Lizzie, wait!” Lina shot through the door and caught the other woman by the arm. Luckily, the dresses Elisabeth preferred prevented her from moving at any speed greater than a dignified stroll.
“Oh, Lina!” Elisabeth smiled, her expression imitating one of pleasant surprise, even as her eyes momentarily darted about for an escape. “I didn't see you there.”
“Sure.” Lina made no effort to hide her dubiety. She wasn't interested in playing dumb. “Why have you been avoiding me? And the Professor, too? He won't see me.”
“Don't be silly, Lina. I'm doing no such thing.” Elisabeth fixed her with that calm smile, inscrutable eyes that ignited a flare of anger through Lina. “You know how busy everyone has been with the new research.”
“New research,” Lina spat it out like a curse. “And what exactly is this 'new research'? I don't like being kept in the dark. Especially when no one is willing to tell me why. And now I can't even access my own research!”
“What are you going on about?” Elisabeth asked with prim, condescending disinterest. Lizzie's attitude toward her had changed over the past month and Lina was beyond aggravation; she was positively wrathful.
“The Sandworm Project: I spearheaded that research, and now the dataframe won't acknowledge my access codes when I try to bring up the files!”
Elisabeth's lips momentarily formed a thin line before she recomposed herself. “That's not an area of study to which you are currently assigned.”
“That's not the point!” Lina exploded.
“The point, Angelina,” Elisabeth countered, her tone turning authoritative and castigating, “is that you are my subordinate, and you would do well to remember your position. Any research you conduct becomes the property of the Union, and if you are denied access, you have no grounds on which to protest!” Elisabeth's brow smoothed as she straightened the sleeve of her dress. She looked on Lina with haughty supremacy, and added, “When I assign you a task, I expect that you will give it your full attention without question. Your behavior today has been inappropriate and unprofessional. Given your youth, I am willing to overlook it, but this is the first and last time I will extend such a generosity.”
Lina clenched her jaw so tightly that it actually made her ears ache. With difficulty, she managed to respond, “Yes, Miss Elisabeth.”
Elisabeth gave her a clipped nod, and turned to leave. Lina placed a hand gently on her arm, causing the woman to pause and glare at the appendage as if the gesture had been meant as a physical affront. “I beg your pardon, ma'am,” Lina said as she withdrew, “but I wondered if you might do me a small favor: I have a gift for the Professor. Chance made it for him, but I haven't had the opportunity to deliver it myself.”
Elisabeth softened, and for a moment, even seemed regretful. “Of course, Lina. I'm meeting with him now. I'd be happy to bring it.”
Lina returned to her lab, which also served as an office, emerging again with a paper flower, crudely pinched into a small, lopsided clay pot. Elisabeth smiled softly as she accepted the present. “It's adorable.”
“She's very proud of it,” Lina added with a gentle sadness that further softened Elisabeth's reproachful demeanor.
“I'm sure he'll love it,” she smiled. “And, I'll let him know that you'd like to see him. He's been very busy, but... I'll see what I can do, Lina.”
Lina gave her a grateful half-smile and returned to her lab as Elisabeth set off down the hall. Once inside, Lina closed the door behind her and locked it so that an access code would be required to reopen it. She stood for a moment, breathing hard as tears welled behind her tightly closed eyes. The raging emotions swelled until she broke off in an explosion of occluded, impotent frustration, her fist slamming into a wall.
She hadn't wanted to resort to this. It was underhanded and manipulative. This wasn't the way she treated her friends and family. But Elisabeth and the Professor had left her with no other options. Still, this hadn't been how she'd wanted to gather her information.
She sat down at her desk, putting on a set of headphones as she adjusted the receiver until the signal became clear. A web of apprehension tightened her stomach as she tried to prepare herself for what the hidden listening device in Chance's 'gift' would reveal.
<><><><><><><>&l t;><><><><><><><><><& gt;<><><><><><><><><> <><><><><><><><><>< ;><><><><>
Vash had boarded the steamer before the rest of his friends, several hours before it set sail. Millie and Wolfwood were slotted to check in next, traveling together, and like him, under pseudonyms. Lastly, only an hour before the Endurance embarked for March, Meryl was supposed to have joined the crowd of passengers.
Vash had been very good. He'd stayed in his cabin the whole time, just like he promised. He hoped that the rest of his friends had managed to get onboard without any trouble.
The sandsteamer had been moving for a few hours now, and Vash was starting to get restless. No, he had started to get restless about fifteen minutes after he'd entered his room. He'd done everything he could think of to keep himself entertained and distracted. Including, but not limited to, setting up a race track for a pair of sand-beetles that happened to be living in his quarters. He was now far beyond antsy, pacing the floor and desperately trying to come up with a rational justification for stepping outside.
Well, the ship was only an orca-class, but it still had over a hundred passengers. He could easily remain unnoticed in a crowd of that size. If he put the suit back on, he'd blend right in with the rest of the business men and women who used this steamer as a shuttle for work between March and September. The more he thought about it, the less necessary it seemed to stay cooped up in his cabin. Besides, people would find it odd if a passenger never left his room, right?
Vash was dressed, in the casino, and down two-hundred double-dollars within the hour. He had thought, with his knowledge of trajectories, weight of projectiles, and angles of impact, that roulette would be a piece of cake. What he forgot to take into account was his unerringly terrible luck. He whined an inarticulate complaint as the uncooperative little ball landed on black. “I thought for sure it was gonna be red,” he grumbled.
Just as he'd decided to cut his losses and return to his cabin, he heard a voice by his shoulder grind out a low warning: “Tongari... what are you doing?”
Vash turned to the priest, his hand reaching reflexively for the itchy spot on the nape of his neck, though Wolfwood had long-grown immune to the gesture's charm. “Uh... losing?”
Wolfwood watched as another pile of the gunman's chips were drawn away by the dealer. “I can see that. Why are you out of your room?”
Vash's posture turned just shy of defensive, and the priest was once again reminded of just how closely Vash could resemble a petulant child. “I got bored,” he complained.
Millie appeared before Wolfwood could further challenge Vash. She joined them from the direction of the card tables, a blithe grin fixed over her features. “Hey, Mr...” she hesitated, leaning close and whispering, “What's your name again?”
“This, dear, is Mr. Smith,” Wolfwood supplied, still eying Vash with annoyance.
“Hey, Mr. Smith! Isn't this fun? I just won six times in a row at... um, what was it?”
“Blackjack, honey,” Wolfwood answered, his amused adoration taking some of the bite out of the superior tone he'd been maintaining for Vash's benefit.
“Yeah, that's it! You should try it! It's really fun and easy and... hey? Aren't you supposed to be in your room?”
“You guys aren't in your room,” Vash protested.
Wolfwood pulled Vash away from the crowd at the table and hissed, “We don't have bounties on our heads.”
Vash ignored him and grumbled something about fairness, looking pleadingly toward Millie for support. Wolfwood wanted to hit him. “Look here, needle noggin...!”
“I understand,” Millie interjected before her boyfriend made a scene. “It must be awful lonely and boring all by yourself. Sempai must have felt the same way.”
“You mean she left her cabin, too!?” Wolfwood demanded.
“Uh huh,” Millie obliviously affirmed. “She said she was going to 'lay low' in the lounge.”
Wolfwood sighed heavily, turning his gaze to the ceiling. “Lord? Why?” He turned back to where Vash stood, intending to drag the man back to his cabin and lock him inside if necessary, but the gunman was already gone. “I hate when he does that,” he grumbled.
“Let him go,” Millie said with a wave of her hand. “Everything will work out.” Wolfwood had every intention of protesting the illogical optimism of such a statement, especially considering that they were talking about Vash, but Millie slipped her arm around his elbow and began to draw him back towards the card tables. “Come on, let's play some more Black Jake!”
<><><><><><><& gt;<><><><><><><><><> <><><><><><><><><>< ;><><><><><><><><><&g t;<><><><>
“A pretty girl all alone? Now that's a crime.”
Meryl had been preoccupied with the task of tearing a napkin into several hundred smaller pieces. It took a moment for her to realize that the voice was speaking to her. When she turned her head she was greeted by an unfamiliar face. He was generically handsome, probably in his twenties judging from the angular masculinity that had only just begun to supplant more rounded, boyish features. His expression was full of the self-assured importance that young men often have, freshly loosed into the world, before they've had a chance to learn how small they really are.
“My name's Alaster. You go to school in September? Graduated two years ago myself. I work for a technical union in March now. Just got a promotion, actually. Why are you headed to March? Interviewing for an internship?”
Meryl realized how young she must look. This guy took her for a coed, one of those wealthy enough to afford higher education at September University. In her neat business attire, the prim white blouse and dark pencil skirt, it wasn't too far off to imagine she was headed to an interview. She looked past Alaster's shoulder and noted a group of young men attempting to be inconspicuous. Wing-men. They cast the occasional glance in her direction, waiting to see if their buddy was about to strike-out.
Her immediate impulse was to tell him to try his luck elsewhere. Meryl wasn't interested. But a funny thought struck her: she wasn't 'Meryl'. At least, not tonight. And she had left her cabin because she hadn't wanted to be alone. This could prove to be a fun game.
“You got me!” she smiled. “One more semester at SU. I'm going to try and intern at the newspaper in March.”
Alaster grinned at her encouraging reaction. “A reporter, huh? I can see that,” he stated, his approval of her choice in profession suggesting he imagined she needed reassurance. “So what's your name?”
“Bridget. Nice to meet you, Alaster.”
“Likewise, Bridget.” He pulled his stool closer to hers and received a few congratulatory gestures from his friends that she pretended not to notice. He motioned for the bartender's attention. “So what you drinking, Bridge? Cosmo? Seabreeze?”
The stone-faced bartender set a pint of microbrewed ale in front of Alaster, and to both patrons' surprise, a rocks glass on 'Bridget's' coaster. “Double gin. Splash of tonic. On the rocks with two limes. Complements of the gentleman in the booth.” The bartender finished with a nod toward the back of the lounge. Alaster frowned at the blond seated on the velvet bench that curled around a table. The blond smiled obliviously and waved.
'Bridget' barely contained a smirk as she picked up her drink and rose from her stool. She turned to Alaster, as he watched her with confused eyes, undoubtedly wondering at what moment the tide had turned against him. “Sorry,” she said as she tipped her glass in a consolatory salute, “but this is a little more my speed.”
Alaster continued to glower at Vash as she made her way to the back of the room. When she took a seat next to him he remarked, “That guy sure is a spoilsport.”
“Thanks for the drink. However did you know?”
She had meant for the question to be sarcastic. Rhetorical, since they'd been drinking together often enough for him to know exactly what she preferred. But he surprised her by answering, “Lucky guess. I have a knack for that sort of thing... Bridget, was it?”
Hmm. So he wants to play? “That's right,” she said, not missing a beat as she adopted the sort of carefree expression she imagined a real coed would wear in this sort of situation. “And you are...?”
“Michael,” he grinned, extending his hand. She almost laughed out loud at the ridiculousness of it, but she managed not to break character as she shook his hand.
“And what brings you to March, Michael?”
“I'm a banker.”
“Really?” Bridget said, impressed. “That sounds important. Your parents must be very proud.”
“Of course. My father's a banker, too. But,” Michael grinned sheepishly, “they won't really be happy until I settle down and give them some grandkids.”
“Oh?” Bridget asked as she twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “And what's stopping you?”
“I suppose, I just haven't met the right girl.”
“Picky?”
“Oh, of course!” he said seriously. “I'm a bright, attractive man, with a bright, attractive future. I can't entrust that to just anyone.”
She laughed as he took a swig from his glass. “So then, you have any ideas as to what attributes you would require in the future Mrs. 'Bright-and-Attractive'?”
“Well,” he started, considering his glass as he swirled its contents, “she'd have to be smart. And beautiful, of course.”
“Of course.” Bridget stated as a matter-of-fact, nodding for him to continue.
“She'd have to be good with kids, an excellent cook, brave, determined... maybe a nice coed, with aspirations of journalism.” He smiled at her and there was a bit of laughter in the expression.
He looked the part. With his deceptively young and disarming features, the expensive suit, Meryl could almost pretend he was a banker. Her mind wandered, imagining a world where she really was 'Bridget', and he really was 'Michael'. What it would be like if they could have a nice, normal existence. Together.
“Sounds like a great life,” she said softly, suddenly very interested in the hem of her sleeve. “What more could a girl ask for? Roof over her head. Husband with a profitable and uneventful career. Two point three kids and a dog. The definition of womanly content, right?”
“Right.”
The regret in his voice made her turn, aware that he had mistaken the meaning of her words, thinking that she was voicing what she wanted. What surprised her was his expression of grief, the understanding that he truly wished he had it to offer her. He wanted to be Michael, if that's what she wanted. Is that what I want? What I need?
“No.” He turned sharply at the resolve in her tone, but his confusion was evident. Didn't he see? She didn't want to be a stupid college intern! She didn't want to get married to a banker! Our lives... they're difficult. They're complicated. But how could I want anything other than... She slid down the bench until she was against him. She tremulously reached for his face, but withdrew her outstretched fingertips before they met his cheek. Sighing, and at a loss for the right words, she simply entreated, “Let's just be us, Vash.”
He looked distressed, conflicted. “But...”
“I don't want to play anymore.” She laid her forehead on his shoulder, uncertain if it was out of exhaustion or simply the desire to touch him.
“Are you sure?” The way he asked made her feel as if he were offering an escape. She looked up at him. He was so serious, grave even. It filled her with a sudden weariness, as if she'd been fighting a war and wanted nothing better than to surrender. Only, looking at Vash, she couldn't tell who'd been conquered.
Her voice stuck in her throat and she couldn't answer. She could only sigh, her head rolling weightlessly into the hand he suddenly held against her cheek. “Meryl, look at me.” She didn't realize she'd closed her eyes until he spoke her name, and when she saw the determination in his, she became suddenly, acutely aware that he wasn't asking permission, he was going to...
Kiss her.
Truthfully, Meryl had never really enjoyed kissing. She could never get her mind around what the big deal was. In her limited experience, she found that it was abrupt, sloppy, and at best, boring. In fact, she'd often found it difficult to keep her attention focused in the midst of a kiss, her mind preferring to wander.
Vash's lips touched hers, the barest parting, the lightest touch imaginable, and she understood. Her attention focused so narrowly on his mouth, that if she'd been standing, she was certain she'd have lost the strength in her legs. She was already dizzy, forced to close her eyes as her senses threatened to overwhelm her. He kissed her, and yet, he didn't. He was holding back, moving so slowly, savoring so fully, that she found she was forced to pay full attention to even the slightest detail of his touch. She became hyper-aware of texture, taste, the thumb that caressed her temple as the rest of his fingers curled behind her ear. He pulled just far enough away that she could still sense his mouth hovering less than a millimeter above hers.
It was amazing. It was torture.
Meryl felt she was of two minds. One was so utterly enthralled by the delicacy, that it endeavored to maintain the touch that was not touching, afraid that the minutiae of sensations would be lost in any increase of pace or pressure. The other cried out for release from the maddening build of potential energy, desiring nothing more than to pull him toward her, to discover if a mouth could really bruise.
And this was just a kiss.
He pulled away from her, just far enough so that when she opened her eyes she could see his whole face. Judging by his ragged breathing, his slightly glazed eyes, and the flush that crept over his skin, he was experiencing the same deluge. His gaze flickered over her mouth as if it surprised him somehow, and a moment later his eyes flashed up to meet hers.
She couldn't take this anymore, and apparently, he agreed. His head tilted as he leaned into her again, his touch more confident, yet less controlled. His mouth moved against hers and she responded instinctively, deepening the kiss as she gripped the lapels of his jacket with both hands. She struggled to move slowly, to resist the urge to all but devour him, to see if she could disappear in that kiss.
“Wait! Stop!” she pleaded, gripped by a sudden and unnameable fear.
He managed to pull himself away, holding both of her wrists where he'd removed her grip on his collar. “Did I hurt you?” His brow was creased. Concern, guilt, confusion all managed to play out in his eyes. And in the background, she could still discern desire. She wondered if he realized he was still leaning toward her. She shook her head. He hadn't hurt her. Why had she stopped him? Why...? She looked up into those aqua eyes, the ones that were just slightly more blue than green, the ones that had transfixed her more times than she could count, the ones that always seemed to be pleading or in pain, and she realized that the odd power she'd always imagined they had was nothing extraordinary. It wasn't supernatural, it wasn't uncanny. His eyes effected her so, because they belonged to the man she was in love with, had been in love with, for longer than she knew.
Unable to speak past the lump in her throat, she fell against him, finding his mouth and attempting to kiss him senseless. It was as if he were melting into her. She felt every trace of tension, doubt, in him dissolve in the wake of her slow, ardent kiss. Only then did she pull away, breathing into his ear, “Where's your room?”