Trigun Fan Fiction ❯ In His Eyes ❯ Beginning Again ( Chapter 3 )

Disclaimer: Trigun and all of its characters are the property of its owners. (Don't make me go look the name up.) I'm not getting any money from this story, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: Sorry everybody. I think this chapter really sucks the big one. Meryl is just a bit too withdrawn, and there's no real plot. Other than that, I give it two guns up! (Er, heh.) I really wanted to post a chapter before I lost interest in this story. It's just not coming out the way I had originally planned, and I don't think there will be any more continuation. So much for becoming the Agent Orange (see: amazing Cowboy Bebop fanfiction writer.) of Trigun. Ah well, life continues, ne? At any rate, don't let my little rant scare you. Read on, dear reader, and please review.

Beginning Again

…He's back. Two simple little words. I found myself repeating them over and over in my head, trying them on for size. The Chief had reassigned both Milly and me to humanity's first natural disaster, and it was all I could do to keep my face from splitting in a giant grin.

It had been two years, four months, and six days since I last saw him. Two miserable, boring years behind a desk, not whether he was dead or alive. I felt my eyes glaze over, and briefly saw my hand stop its frantic search inside my locker as I let myself drift on some of the happier memories from my brief travels with the outlaw.

"Isn't it wonderful, Meryl?" I snapped back from the image of liquid green eyes. "What?" Milly stood to my right, eyes wide and grinning like a kid that had just been given the key to the world's largest candy store. She repeated herself, and I nodded. The joy I felt inside had been put under wraps. I had to be professional about this. But after all, it HAD been two years.

"Yeah, it is great." I smiled at her, a genuine one that I hadn't been able to pull off for a long time. Milly clapped her hands together, and started prattling on about the things we would need to buy before setting off. I barely heard her words as I finished packing. He's back, and he is alive. Eventually Milly drifted off to find a better audience, and I sat down on the bench. For some reason I felt like sobbing. Maybe just for the fact that I knew my life was going to pick up speed again, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. But he was alive. The sense of relief was overwhelming, and I began to feel dizzy.

Vash was alive and well, and I would find him. Things would pick up where they had left off, and I would be with him. Those two years gnawed at my insides now, making the empty hole inside me larger; a hole that could only be filled up when he was around. He would be the same idiot, screaming and crying like a baby when faced with any danger and giving me a constant headache with his inane actions.

When we found him in which ever town he decided to resurface in, I would be near the man who was the embodiment of a childhood hero, hidden beneath the mask of a flirtatious drifter who wanted nothing more than to get completely plastered and wolf down doughnuts all day. I had given up on foolish dreams of adventure and romance years ago. My life was laid out before me: numerous years spent somewhere behind a desk, then retirement and maybe a small hope for a family of my own wedged somewhere in there.

Never had I imagined that the stories of a dangerous man with blonde hair and a red trench coat would factor into my future. But Vash, the Humanoid Typhoon had swirled in, and I couldn't let him go. The months Milly and I spent with him gave us small insights into his personality.

One night, before I really knew him, our eyes had met over the campfire. Any doubts I had originally had to his identity were gone. Those eyes flashed at me with someone other than the lighthearted buffoon looking out. I later passed it off as a reflection in the firelight, but the doubts kept me awake long into the night.

He had looked so…sad. And angry, at the same time. I figured it had to be annoyance at suddenly having traveling companions, but now I think his anger had been directed somewhere else. Anyone who has stayed alive as long as he has must have made many enemies over the years. It was mostly sadness and pain I felt from him that night. Who would have guessed such a notorious outlaw would have so many depths of pain and sadness inside of him? It makes me feel guilty for holding onto the tiny hurts that I carry.

I can't wait to see him again. If only-"Meryl…" Milly is waving a hand in front of my face. From the frustration written all over her, I guess she's been trying to snap me out of it for a while. "Er, sorry Milly." I zip my last suitcase closed, willing the sheepish smile off my face. "I guess I forgot myself for a while there." My apology seems to work, as the uncharacteristic frown melts off her face; replaced by her regular sunny grin.

"Oh, it's okay. I just wanted to tell you that the sand steamer is going to be leaving in an hour, so you have to pack and get your suitcases on board." I smiled and patted the side of one well-worn bag. "No worries there. I'm all set!" I say with a grin. In reply, she flips her duffel over one brawny shoulder, and walks out the door. Luckily, I left enough things in a bag in my locker; everything I needed was here at the office, just in case. It never fails to be ready, and I won't have to return to my tiny apartment.

The locker door closes with a bang, and I follow Milly's retreating figure out the front door of the building, and the half-isle to the train station. Instead of getting heavier as I walk, the suitcase feels lighter than ever before against my fingertips. The sand steamer grows larger as I approach; the sound of its horn and the smell of fuel reach my senses and I take them in with a smile.

Another day of travel, and I'll be in another small town, looking for a man that anyone else in their right mind would run away from; his spiky blonde hair and red trench coat the trademarks of a dangerous gunman world-renowned for violence and destruction. Overhead, the sky shines bluer than I ever thought possible, and the twin suns' rays shine down with an almost gentle touch.

A few more steps and I pass my bag off to one of the sand steamer's crew for storage. A few aisles back, and I take the window seat across from Milly, who has already begun to nod off. A few minutes pass, and then the gut-rumbling horn bellows, and the city of December slowly fades from view. I rest my head against the thick glass panes, and close my eyes. I'll see you soon, Vash the Stampede. I think to myself, and then sleep claims me.

It truly is a sound life.