Trigun Fan Fiction ❯ Children of the Pebble ❯ Fruit of the Vine ( Chapter 7 )

Children of the Pebble

By “Clinesterton Beademung”, with all of love.

 

Disclaimer: “Trigun” © its respective creators and owners. I do this for fun, not profit. So there.

 

Comments and criticism welcome.

 

Chapter Seven - Fruit of the Vine

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The evening shuttle from Little Jersey arrived in New Oregon an hour behind schedule. Few of the passengers complained, their faces pressed to the portholes, gaping in wonder at the Ship that fell from the sky.

Meryl was the first to tear herself from the spectacle, having seen—and felt—this artifact of their ancestors hit the ground like a whole other planet. All that mattered to her was that whatever mysterious Lost Technology magic that held the thing upright kept working. She changed clothes and packed, and as she maneuvered through the passageways the crewmembers she encountered favored her with approving glances.

On the way down the escalator she searched the steamer dock, but he was nowhere in sight. Not a problem. Hunting him down the first time had been half the fun, except for almost being killed and a half dozen other terrors Meryl had allowed herself to forget.

Lost in thought she stumbled at the bottom and was caught by a stranger's strong hand. When she stood up her protector had disappeared into the milling crowd. Meryl thanked the man in her thoughts and headed for the nearest restaurant. He might be in either a diner or a saloon, stuffing his face or pouring alcohol down his prodigious gullet.

But this was New Oregon, part of the Polo family's fief that spanned half the Columbia Territory. Here, everything was for sale. She didn't like to think of where else Vash might be.

Her first reconnoiter of the eating and drinking establishments on the city's man thoroughfare turned up nothing. No surprise. Vash had to be in some sort of disguise or costume; no man she'd seen bore any of the more obvious marks that distinguished the Humanoid Typhoon. If Vash were hiding himself he'd made himself invisible to her eyes, too.

The falling night was dry and hot and she was thirsty. At the last reputable-looking restaurant on the main thoroughfare she sat at the bar and ordered ice water. It tasted like heaven. If Vash didn't turn up soon she'd have to find a place to stay.

When the bartender brought her bill Meryl opened her purse. Between the bills she found a folded square of gossamer white paper.

Cascades Hotel. Ask for Mr. Smith, room 333. Destroy this note. V.

How the hell does he do that? Meryl wondered as she wadded the note into a ball and ate it. It tasted minty.

As fast as her pumps and her bit-too-tight evening dress would allow, Meryl walked to the Cascades Hotel, trailing her suitcase behind her. By the time a bellhop showed her to the door she was breathing heavily. She knocked. The door opened. It was he. His hair was darker and longer, and his clothes were plainer, but it was he.

“Hi,” Vash said, extending his hand.

“Hi,” Meryl said, taking it.

The room was a full suite, furnished and filled with all the comforts of a plutocrat's mansion. In another time, in her role as an agent of the Bernardelli Insurance Society, the cost of such accommodations would've sent the bean counters at the home office into apoplexy. Tonight it was expected and appropriate. Meryl tossed her purse and stole onto the couch and let him lead her into the bedroom.

“Do you want to freshen up?” Vash said. “You should see the bath, it's amazing.”

“And let you ogle me through the keyhole? I don't think so.”

“Nothing I haven't seen before…”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing.”

Meryl pushed him back to the single enormous bed. He sat down.

“Why do I put up with you?” she said.

“I could ask the same question.”

“I didn't give you much of a choice.”

“You smell nice.”

“For someone who's just traveled two thousand iles, you mean?”

“We've both come a long way. And here we are,” Vash said, “right where we left off.”

“Not quite.” Meryl unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders. She took his hands and guided them under the hem of her dress.

“This is where we left off,” she said.

 

---

 

Overslept again.

Milly spun her legs over the edge of her bed. Sitting up sent a spear of pain from her forehead to her back to her tailbone. Through the window opposite the foot of her bed the suns poured energy into her room. She held her face in her hands as if to cool it in the perspiration on her palms.

Late for breakfast the third time this week. Already her brothers, sisters, and cousins were in the fields, gathering this season's harvest and sowing the next. Why didn't anyone wake her up? Didn't they need her help?

Milly shuffled down the hall to the bathroom and attended to her morning business. Before she flushed she examined the water.

Being late wasn't always bad. She returned to her bedroom and left her pajamas in a pile at her feet.

 

---

 

“How do you do that?” Meryl said.

“Just good with my hands, I guess,” Vash said. “You're beautiful. Who knew you liked such racy underwear?”

“Milly's idea. Now just hold your thomases, this clasp is complicated. You might need a little help.”

“What, with this?”

“Hey—”

 

---

 

Guess I don't know my own strength, Milly thought, letting the broken leather strap slide through her fingers. The saddle could be fixed but it would take time, time Milly didn't have. Now she'd have to walk out to the northeast quarter to help Dad with the last of the wheat. She didn't want to walk that far, not carrying a forty-poung scythe, not with a barn full of healthy thoroughbred thomases and two brand new saddles nearby, but there was no point in fumbling around with another and breaking the belly strap in a fit of foul temper.

Milly guided Winnifred back to her stall. She would walk, and that's all there was to it. She'd hefted that stungun all over hell's half hectacre and it weighed almost as much as she did. The exercise would do her—them—good.

Darn it all, Milly thought when she got to the tool shed. No one had left anything out for her. She tried the door. It opened onto a darkness she had no desire to enter.

 

---

 

“My goodness,” Meryl said.

“You're not so bad yourself,” Vash said.

“Not scrawny. Not in the least little bit.”

“You're the first woman to express an opinion. At least to my face.”

“Am I the first woman to get this close to you?”

“Well…not exactly.”

“That better not mean what I think it means,” Meryl said.

“She lives near Kasted City,” Vash said. “I'll introduce her to you sometime—”

“Vash, don't make me hurt you.”

“Wow, did you know your nipples get hard when you're angry—ow!”

“So do my fists, broomhead. Now, are you going to get down to business or do I have to get violent?”

“Since you put it that way…”

“That's better,” Meryl said. “No, wait, start with the right one…”

“How's that?”

“That's even better…oh, that's good…”

 

---

 

This was not good.

How things had come to this on the best farm in the world, Milly couldn't understand. The output valves on the irrigation system had been neglected, and now they were as hard to open as a jar of Mom's marmalade. The seeds Eleanor had laid down would be swept away by the wind if she didn't get the water flowing by noon.

She'd wanted to help Dad bring in the wheat. That was a job for a grownup. It wasn't her fault no one left a scythe or a weed cutter or so much as a pair of shears for her. It wasn't her fault that no matter how hard she tried she couldn't make herself go into the tool shed. When had she become such a fraidycat?

Dad said it was all right, that she should be in bed anyway but if she were going to be so pigheaded she might as well irrigate the northwest quarter.

Opening the irrigation valves was a job for a child. Her niece Sondra could do it. Too bad she wasn't here. Sebastian, her middle big brother, wanted his daughter to follow in his footsteps and become a geologist, so she was away at an expensive private school. He and his wife were visiting her.

Getting big for his britches, Bastian was. Too good for simple, hard work anymore.

Not me, Milly thought as she threaded the handle into the pump. I can do it all. Because I want to.

Milly leaned on the handle and slipped. The bare end of the pipe cut her palm as it snapped.

 

---

 

“Meryl, how did you get this little scar on your thumb?”

“Peeling potatoes. Long story.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Of course not. Why would it?”

“It looks painful. Let me kiss it and make it better.”

“For heaven's sake, what—Vash…”

“Better?”

“Yes, but can't you tell my thumb from my—oh. Ohmygoodness…”

 

---

 

Milly wrapped her bandanna around her hand.

The valve was stuck, and stuck tight. Grit had got into the threads and turned into cement. Good thing she'd come back when she did. This valve would've been locked up solid in another month. Nothing on this planet could've opened it.

Milly squatted and grabbed the jagged remnant of the bar. With all her might, she pushed with her legs and pulled with her arms.

Would this hurt the baby?

“I can handle it,” Milly said through clenched teeth. “I can handle it, I can handle it, I can—”

A final pull, and the valve broke. The land absorbed the water, rose as if breathing it in. She washed the cut on her hand, put her lips to the stream, and drank.

 

---

 

“Where the hell did you learn that?” Meryl said.

“A practical application of my extensive knowledge of human physiology, namely—”

“That tickles.”

“—female anatomy.”

“Very funny. You're such a pervert.”

“Takes one to know one,” Vash said. “That wasn't the no-nonsense insurance girl I remember pulling my hair and moaning in ecstasy just now.”

“I'm out of the insurance business.”

“You don't say. What about the no-nonsense part?”

“We'd get to that if you didn't talk so much.”

“Right you are.”

“Yes I am. Oh—wait, Vash, before we get carried away…”

 

---

 

So this is how it's going to be, Milly thought.

Fresh blisters rose on her hands. Being away from the farm had made her soft. She'd come back none too soon. Milly fished her gloves out of her back pocket and slipped them on.

 

---

 

“I'm glad you don't mind,” Meryl said.

“Not at all,” Vash said. “I kind of expected it.”

“It's just that I didn't have time to—make other arrangements.”

“Careful, you'll tear it.”

“Just be quiet and let me work. There, all done.”

“Is it on right?”

“Of course, I read the instructions. Vash…”

“Yes?”

“Never mind. It's a little late to have doubts about you now, isn't it? Even if I did. Which I don't. Ah, hell…”

“It's all right. You can count on me to do the right thing, insurance girl.”

“I know. You're a man of your word. Speaking of which,” Meryl said, “call me that again.”

“What? Insurance girl?”

“Say it again.”

“Insurance girl…”

“Again…oh, yes…”

 

---

 

Milly Thompson, former agent of the Bernardelli Insurance Society, was satisfied. Water foamed out of the irrigation pipe, flowed into the carved rivulets around the field and divided into the tributaries parallel to the rows of thirsty seeds.

The suns were past their zenith. Had she missed lunch? She hadn't heard the bell. It didn't matter, she wasn't hungry. Heck, she could work all day without a single bite.

Far to the south, the main pumps of the irrigation system thrust their glistening shafts into the ground and drew them up in a cycle as endless as the wind that drove the machines themselves. Even from this distance Milly could hear the moan and sigh of oily metal on oily metal. A strong gust made the pumping faster.

And she thought Meryl had a dirty mind. No, her former boss had nothing on her when it came to impure thoughts. She'd proved it that last happy night in Tonim.

A priest. Of all the men she'd ever met, she picked the one man bound by a vow of chastity, or so Meryl had said when Meryl explained in detail just what a man of the cloth was. She was disappointed at first but it hadn't taken her long to discover that few of Mr. Wolfwood's sacred promises came between him and what he wanted to do. Or what he needed to do.

It was his wish as much as hers but she still felt bad about it. Even as she left her clothes on the floor, even as her hands touched his, her lips, her body, she wondered if this was the end of something pure in him, the death of a holy man's holiness.

She'd never wanted a holy man. A good man was good enough. He loved children, he would've been a wonderful father. I'm sorry, my darling, that you'll never know him—

 

---

 

You're not pregnant, Milly.

But Bea, I'm late. How can I not be?

A number of ways. Overwork, emotional stress, poor diet, lack of sleep, among others. All those things, by the look of you.

I'm fine, Beatrice.

I'm just trying to help, sweetie. Why won't you let me?

“Milly.”

I can handle it Meryl

“Milly…”

He made me promise he made me promise and I did

“Milly!”

But so did he so did he goddamnit

“Milly, wake up!”

Heat from the beaten thomas cart path baked through Milly's overalls and into her back.

“You passed out, sweetie,” Bea said, dabbing Milly's forehead with a wet cloth. “My little Milly, why won't you listen to me?”

“Thought we lost you there for a moment, love,” Dad said. “Oliver, Benjamin, you two carry your sister back to the house. The rest of you follow them. I think we've done enough for today.”

Milly relaxed. It was good to be back home. Good to be busy with work and surrounded by family. Her brothers and sisters leaned down on their pitchforks and reapers, casting shadows, protecting her from the sickly suns, making malevolent shapes against a rotten vanilla pudding sky—

Halfway back to the house, her lungs on fire, her vocal cords flayed, Milly could run no further. She collapsed.

 

---

 

Meryl spread her fingers across Vash's chest, closed them around the strands of his hair. Soft, like petting a downy thomas chick. She drew a finger through the perspiration glistening on his shoulder, kissed the bare spot she made.

“Do I taste good?” he said.

“A little salty.”

“You were expecting doughnuts?”

“You eat enough of them.”

“I like other things, too.”

“God, you're disgusting…”

“How could you ever put up with me.”

“It would be an effort.”

Vash moved his hand down to the small of her back.

“Maybe not that great an effort,” Meryl said, sighing. At least that would be easier from now on. She'd heard the first time would hurt, and it did. Maybe she'd put it on wrong, after all.

“Thank you,” Meryl said.

“For what?”

Meryl wondered if all men, despite their other redeeming qualities, were so utterly dense. For saving my life, you broomhead. For being there when I needed you, for letting me be near you, for giving my life a purpose I never thought I'd have. For being a man among all other men. For waiting for me. For wanting me, for making love to me, for being in this bed with me. Do I really have to spell it out for you?

“No reason,” she said.

“In that case,” he said, “I thank you, too.” His smile made a pleasant shiver travel up Meryl's spine. “For no reason.”

“I guess we're even.”

“I guess so.”

Meryl leaned her head on his chest. I want this night to last forever. The heroines in every cheesy bodice-ripper she'd ever read had always said or thought the same thing, in different words, at this point in the story. Tragic romance was the literary fad of the times, and only in the rare books with happy endings did it happen that way. Most of the time the heroine's lover left her near the end, out of duty or honor or pride or any other reason a cardboard caricature of a man might imagine and die trying to reach that which was dearer than love, leaving his lady fair to pine for the living memory of him and mourn over the mound of newly turned earth on his grave.

It's a good thing, Meryl thought, that real life wasn't always that melodramatic.

“Vash,” she said, “I'm going back.”

“Back where?”

“Home.” She hid her face in his shoulder. “I'm going back home.” She had come to New Oregon to convince him they could have a life together, and she'd done her best. This night would end with the sunrise on them both, or in the moonlight alone. Then it was just a question of who would leave first.

Meryl caressed his chest, waiting. His breathing was shallow and his body had gone rigid, as if bracing for some unavoidable impact. She heard a crackling noise near his left ear.

Vash got up, pushed aside the curtain and peered through the window, listening and muttering. Moonlight poured through the gap. At the sound of gunfire in the streets, Meryl jumped.

No, Meryl said to the distorted voice coming from his earring. This can't be. He's come so far, been through so much, please, whoever you are, let him rest, let him come home, don't you dare change your mind on me, Vash the Stampede…

Vash tapped his earring. It went silent. He sat on the edge of the bed.

“We have to leave,” he said, without turning.

“When?”

“Right now.”

Meryl, accepting the inevitable, moved to get out of bed. His hand closed on hers.

“I'm coming with you,” he said. “Would that be all right?”

Meryl didn't move, transfixed by her lover's words. Tonight had been a night to lose control, to shed inhibitions she'd lived with since that intimate silence not so far from here, before the Ship had fallen from the sky. Nothing held her back now, and her body seemed to move of its own accord as she threw her arms around his neck and held him close.

“As long as you behave yourself,” she said.

 

---

 

Milly awoke to a room awash in moonlight, filled with a lingering terror and a pain that struck her belly like a fist. She stumbled to the bathroom, sat down.

When the pain subsided to a bearable level, she examined the water. Crimson filaments trailed behind tumbling scarlet drops.

“Big big sister…help…”

---

Author's Afterword

Well, friends and neighbors, this chapter marks the end of the first story arc. The next one will pick up the story some months later, when Meryl is firmly established in her new career and daydreaming about her courtship with her husband. Be on the lookout for some old friends, particularly a blond deputy marshal with a big silver gun, a voluptuous Plant engineer who likes to wear purple, and an Inepril waitress who wants more out of her life than waiting on outlaws and part-time bounty hunting.

To all who've reviewed thus far, my thanks and kind regards.

Next: Meryl joins her father's company, Vash gets an offer he can't refuse, and a certain deputy marshal gets a promotion that feels like anything but. See you next time!