Trigun Fan Fiction ❯ Purgatory ❯ Purgatory Chapter 6 ( Chapter 6 )

A/N: I’ve resisted writing these because I didn’t want to interfere with the flow of the story, but I wanted to thank my readers and especially those who have left reviews and encouragement and added me to their fave lists. I wrote this rather fluffy chapter for you! It’s a brief respite because things are going to get serious again pretty soon! J Enjoy.

Nicholas D. Wolfwood. Milly thought the name to herself for the hundredth time that night. Who WAS that guy? He had waltzed into her world like a knight come to rescue her, and then disappeared with a kiss on the forehead. That was not how the fairy tale was supposed to end.

She couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t think straight. She had been stuck in a rut, in a boring routine, and suddenly she felt like everything had changed. He had left three hours ago and she still was tossing and turning, not tired in the least. She felt confused, exhilarated, and frustrated in equal measure. Her second oldest big sister had told her about this kind of reaction. “Someday, Milly, you‘re gonna meet a guy who makes you stupid and giddy!” she had teased after telling her baby sister about her own engagement.

Is this it? She did feel giddy. And stupid. Mainly stupid. Stupid for not doing something. Doing what she had no idea. What could I do? A priest was about the least seducible person she could think of. And this guy was special, different, sexy in such a non-priest-like way. Damn. She realized, half with amusement, half with alarm, that she had bona fide butterflies in her stomach when she recalled the way he looked, smiling, stretching, sleeping…

“AAAAAAAAAAAH” she wailed comically, pushing away the thoughts which followed, and giggling, rolled out of bed. Her feet hit the floor with a smack and she felt energized and simply wonderful despite the fact she hadn‘t slept and had been exhausted when she left work hours ago.

One of the benefits of living alone is you don’t bother anyone if you decide to turn on all the lights and crank the stereo at five o’clock in the morning. Milly took advantage of this fact. She raced from the bedroom, into the kitchen, looking with ridiculous fondness at the dirty plates in the sink. There it was, proof. It wasn’t a dream. He had been real. He had been here. Nicholas D. Wolfwood, she thought again, the name like a mantra in her head. She sighed at her own absurdity and perched on a kitchen chair. OK, Milly, she thought, you may have got a horrid awful crush on a priest…what if it’s just because he saved me? Isn’t there a syndrome for this, a name they call it? What if it isn’t real? She mentally shrugged off the thought. Of course that was it--nothing making her feel this elated could be real. But she could still enjoy it.

Sighing dramatically, it’s lust, she thought, and then felt horrified at the admission. I’m going to HELL, she decided, mentally capitalizing her presumed punishment, but even the blasphemy of her less-than-holy desires left her happiness undimmed.

Getting up from the table, she danced around some more. She headed over to the stereo and threw in a new CD. The one with that song he seemed to like in the car. Why was I so mean to him then? she agonized. If I had been nicer maybe he would have stayed. At least stayed longer. And I’ll probably never see him again…this final thought was the first to pierce through the euphoria that had put a tightness in her chest and made her stomach do flip-flops. She abruptly stopped her waltzing and leaned heavily against the wall. I will never see him again…the song’s sad strains reflected her abrupt change of mood.

Milly didn’t keep a journal, and she did not have any close friends she could comfortably call in the wee hours before dawn. But she was an avid letter writer. She wrote to her entire family every weekend, one to her sisters, one to each brother, one to mom and dad, and one to the nieces, and one for each nephew. She was consumed with the need to transmit her recent experience to someone, as if by writing it down it would make it permanent. And so she grabbed some stationery and started a note to that second oldest big sister--the ones whose words of wisdom seemed so on target with how she felt at this moment.

Scribbling with a frenzy, she started off with the mess that was her workday, and when she got to the entrance of one handsome priest/rescuer named Nicholas D. Wolfwood, she found she couldn’t write anymore. She put down the pen and looked blankly at the paper. What could she write? “So sis, I met this priest who threatened these guys and he was a stranger but I offered him a ride and then took him to my place and made him dinner.” Her responsible and most practical big sister would be aghast, and perhaps on the next flight down to shake some sense into her in person. Thinking about it, the facts didn’t necessarily fit the way she felt right now. She hadn’t been very smart this evening, had she?

She had put this stranger on a pedestal and it was probably just as well that she was never going to see him again. It’s dangerous to idealize people, Milly told herself sensibly, and he was definitely a man with secrets. She knew nothing about him. She had realized that he was avoiding her questions about himself and she had dismissed it because she didn’t want to notice. She wanted him to be that knight--perfect and above reproach. Can’t get much more knightly than a priest, she sighed to herself. Gallant. Untouchable. Chaste! And gone.

No matter how stupid her behavior had been, she couldn’t deny how she felt--how he had made her feel. He was so nice. Funny, and charming, and ………

She collapsed into her sofa and buried her face in the pillows. Not sure if she should laugh or cry, she lay there a minute, and then she smelled the faintest hint of smoke in the fabric. Yuck, part of her thought, but she also inhaled deeply and closed her eyes at the scent. “It smells like him,” she whispered into the cloth, and finally fell asleep to sweet dreams beneath a mound of pillows in a blazingly bright apartment with the stereo blaring.