Disclaimer: I own my feeble brain, my sketchy prose and life-giving hot chocolate, but, unfortunately, I do not own Trigun.

A/N: First things first. I know fans of Sepia Photographs, Lavender Reverie are going to be cut with me for posting this instead of working on chapter twenty of that fic, but this had to be written. I even put aside my own personal fiction to write this. Let me explain... A long time ago in a brain far, far away from reality, there was a mix of fanfiction ideas floating around, the most prominent of which was SP, LR. It got posted, but progress gradually slowed. It has not, by any means, ceased, of course! I may be lazy, I may be cliche in my prose, but I am most certainly committed to the things I start.

However, among said fiction ideas was the one you see before you, right now only in its foetal stage of being written. Back then, SP, LR was much more formed than this fic, which was just a budding idea. As time went by, though, I began to contort and scrutinize the mechanics behind this fic. I started writing it... then stopped... then started. Only yesterday did the story form fully within my mind. I finished the first chapter. And this story, my friends, is extremely important to me. I can't really say way, but it is a story I feel I would like to share.

Right, that's enough of my woolly ramblings. Anyway, down to business. Narration will change from time to time, for each character will tell their side of the story. It will always be first person, mind.

Please review, and, most assuredly, please enjoy the fic! Thank you very much.

Today, your narrator is Meryl.

And without further ado, I give you...

The Aqua Project

'Courage is the price that life extracts for granting peace.' – Amelia Earhart

One: Take Care and Good Luck

"THE PIRATE STRIKES AGAIN!" trumpeted Daily Bernardelli with ecstatic incredulity. I sipped at my coffee and shifted the newspaper into the center of my desk to examine the front page.

"Seamus Hawkeye, widely known as The Sand Pirate, thwarts the December bank robbery.

Four years counting, Hawkeye has been the mysterious scourge of Gunsmoke's outlaws. A grand total of five hundred criminals, known and unknown, have been put behind bars at Seamus' hands. Today, the citizens of December city are in a state of rejoice. The hero yesterday, single-handedly, put away the notorious Marilyn and Patricia Nebraska while on their attempt to empty the City's largest bank."

From there on I skim-read. Pleased and relieved citizens were quoted as well as business owners and accountants, all making comments on how Seamus Hawkeye was a "godsend" and "saved my business." I felt an unpleasant squeeze in my throat, however, as I read towards the end of the article. "…and citizens are eagerly anticipating the day this famous bounty hunter puts away the infamous Vash the Stampede."

I sighed. A fairly lackluster article, as usual, I thought dejectedly, flipping over the pages and keeping squinted eyes to avoid any 'V's in bold print. All these articles on a single man. It's just monotonous. It's always the same thing, too. He saves a few people and then scarpers back off into the desert to his little hideout.

Doesn't anyone except me feel it's a little suspicious? Why not just stick around? I'll tell you why, it's obviously because he's a criminal himself. And he only got the name The Sand Pirate because he wears a stupid black patch over his right eye. He probably has perfectly good vision; he just wants to make an image for himself, to get attention. Well he's certainly drawn everyone's attention to him. Everyone, that is, except me. Nope. I'm not paying him the least bit of interest. Not in the slightest. He's just a wannabe Robin Hoo-- Oh god, I thought bleakly. My eyes had just glued themselves to an article on page five and read it while I was droning to myself.

"Vash the Stampede…mass havoc…town besieged…terrorizing citizens…"

Violent protest was about to spew from my eyes when I heard Karen's whiny voice from behind the newsprint.

"Meryyyl," she slurred, bored.

Back to reality, now, Meryl, I chastised myself. I promptly swallowed back my tears, shoved Daily Bernardelli aside, snatched up a pen and inadvertently put my elbow in my mug of cold coffee.

"Hello, Karen," I said, smiling stiffly up at her, holding the pen to my cheek to appear busy. "Yes. What is it?" She gave a sigh.

"Meryl, the chief wants you. He's been calling you for the past ten minutes—" Her expression turned odd, a brow cocked.

"What?" I blurted. Karen pointed mutely to my slowly browning sleeve. I glanced down.

"Ahh!" I gasped, jumping up. With that, I sprinted away to the Ladies' washroom, the mug vacuumed to my elbow, Karen forgotten and left behind, a dumbstruck look on her cosmetic coated face.

I sighed to myself, flushing and embarrassed, as I awkwardly squeezed and rinsed the Java out of my sleeve, though subconsciously grateful to have escaped Karen. I'm really losing it these days, I think. I lathered some soap around my elbow. It's because, well, my life's changed so much over the past couple of years.

I think I could've been perfectly content if I had never taken that field job—I would have just gone on a normal insurance agent, working nine to five in the main office. I could have easily been satisfied with my job. I could have turned down fieldwork. But I didn't.

See, I was young back then. And, now that I look back, I guess I just wasn't ready to settle down permanently into this job. I was sensible, of course, and responsible, but still young. So I took the job, quite unaware that a small part of me wanted a little adventure before I acquiesced the subtle, boring routine of the daily office life.

And now I'm back. It was nearly two years that I—sorry—Milly and I spent with Vash the Stampede. There was that reprieve after the fifth moon incident and, though I was just a little unhappy about the circumstances on which we had to return, I think I could have called it quits then. I'd had my fling and, yes, though I suppose I'll admit that I wouldn't have minded seeing him again, I was ready to snuggle down into interminable paperwork again.

But it wasn't meant to be. There are two words that I'll never forget—Little Jersey. That's where we picked up Vash's neon trail again. It was as though I had finally recollected the sands of my office life and put them back in their ornamental bottle when, BAM, that clumsy oaf knocked me clean off of my office chair. And I'm not too reluctant to admit that I didn't really mind, for, although I used to find Vash's clumsiness excruciatingly annoying, I kind of think it amuses me now. That is to say, it used to.

Like I said, I'm back now, washing the coffee out of my sleeve, for goodness' sake—because I am most definitely losing it. I've lost my marbles. Or should I say my sand? It slipped through my fingers like, well, like sand, I guess. The fact is that I'm constantly unsettled. Especially after it happened. And I've been shaken up so much over the course of the past three years, that I hardly know the meaning of the word 'home' anymore.

I was jumpy when I first returned three weeks ago. And that was to be expected since I'd spent so much time away from my secure and perfectly stationary desk. I told myself, and my fellows, that I'd get better after a few days. Milly knew better.

"Everything has just been so hectic!" I had exclaimed with a laugh to Gwen at reception, a few days after I got back, after she had commented on how haggard, as she put it, I looked. "It's hard for me to get back to a daily routine. You never know what's coming your way when you're with Vash the Stampede," I laughed. Gwen gave me a concerned look then her lips curled into a warmish smile.

"I understand, Meryl," she said. "You just take care of yourself."

"Oh, I will," I chirped. "I'll be fine anyway. I'll be absolutely fine in a few days!" But I wasn't. Sure, I gave off a perfectly confident exterior in a few days, but on the inside I was in turmoil. I still am. No one could forget the things I've seen.

But that doesn't mean I miss being on the road. Or miss the danger that's so excusably part of fieldwork. And I don't miss Vash.

"Don't look at me like that!" I burst at the sink mirror frowning at me. My reflection paused, shook her head and mouthed 'loosing it badly', flushing.

Okay, so maybe I do miss Vash, but only because I'm so used to having him around. It was just a touch of a shock to have to leave him so suddenly. I worry about him. Plus, the way he acted after he returned with—with Knives, it kind of upset me. Now don't get me wrong, he wasn't offensive or nasty or anything like that. He was just—I don't know how to explain it.

I thought I could predict him. After all, he swings moods around with the unpredictability of a chameleon. You just expect something that is unpredictable to be that way. I was completely unprepared for that conversation, though. Vash demonstrated a level of solemnity that I'd never known to be a part of his persona. It was frightening, to say the least.

"Meryl," he had said gently, but guardedly, one night some time ago. A small shiver convulsed my frame. I had trouble hiding it. It always feels so strange when Vash calls me by my first name. It's as though my feet just vanish below my legs and I get the sickly feel of falling over. And the fact is that I can hide this almost as well as Vash can hide the seriousness in his voice when he does call me by my given name.

But he wasn't trying to that night, and it scared me.

"Yes?" I replied, taking a seat at the table opposite him, a teacup clasped in my hand.

"Well…" he began. He held his breath, and I waited patiently. "I think we need to talk." Obviously.

"Okay," I agreed, light-toned, and hiding my curiosity. I knew something was coming, and was desperately trying to prolong the moment before the cards had to hit the table. "Shoot," I said.

Vash deliberated, his eyes wavering to and fro, unfocused, yet agonizingly intent. Subconsciously, I knew he was hurting himself. He made a noise akin to a strangled sigh and scrunched his tousled fringe up in his fingers.

"Vash, what is it?" I asked, more than concerned.

"Meryl," he said again, his voice catching distinctly, "I know you're going to disagree with me, but I really think—" He had to pause and suck in a breath of air. Clearly he was battling with himself. A pregnant silence fell on the room. When Vash finally looked up, his emerald eyes were pained and glazed, but set. He had made his decision, I knew.

"It's time for you to go back to Bernardelli now," he said simply, deadpan. "For good," he added. I almost choked. Vash looked like he could have done the same.

"W-why?" I managed. His expression turned grave.

"Because it's just…" he faltered, vigilant. "You don't know how dangerous my brother is." He looked away just as I forced a glare on him.

"I've said it before," I enunciated tightly. "Danger is part of the job." With that I sipped self-righteously at my tea.

"You don't understand," he sighed. I felt indignant. "It's not just gunfire anymore."

"It was never just gunfire," I pointed out, a cool edge on my voice.

"But this is serious!" Vash pleaded. He gazed at me, his lip bit, his face reddening. The skin below his eyes tautened, as if to hold back the rising moisture in them. I felt a spasm of pain in my chest, seeing him like this, that I was partly responsible.

"Knives is too dangerous for you to handle," Vash said finally, his voice low. I thought about my responses. What could I say to him? How could I force him to let me stay without upsetting or angering him? Could I convince him that I could look out for my own?

"Vash," I said, "it's not Knives who I am assigned to."

"But he's my brother," Vash groaned. "He could…" He looked at me, his face written with uttermost suffering. "He could kill you." I felt the urge then to scoot over to him, to stroke and hold his hand in mine and console him.

"Half the people I've come across on this job could kill me," I replied, taking another drink of my tea to distract myself.

"But Knives is more dangerous than all of them combined, and tenfold over that!" The moisture in Vash's eyes fell just the tiniest bit. I forced my gaze away. "Meryl, it's just…" He heaved a shaky sigh and shook his head. "It really is too dangerous now. And there will be a time when I can't protect you or Milly," he added. This sparked a bizarre flame of anger and excitement in me. The anger quickly won out, however.

"Protect me?" I echoed. "Is that what you think you have to do?" I demanded. Vash opened his mouth but I interjected before he could speak. "Vash, don't think it's your duty to do anything like that," I rebuked, my voice fast and heated. "I can take care of myself! You don't owe me anything, and as far as I'm concerned, you're just paperwork." At the look on his face, I knew I hadn't just hurt myself by mistakenly saying that.

"Meryl—!" At that, an audible whimper, originating from upstairs, met both our ears. Vash and I exchanged a glance of mutual melancholy. We both knew Milly was grieving.

"No, Vash," I whispered after a long hiatus, "We're not leaving. This is my job. Besides," I added. "I think Milly would be better off here with the both of us." Vash exhaled a sigh, replacing his forehead back in his hands.

"Don't you agree?" I asked softly. I couldn't just stay, just disobey him. I wanted to stay, but I needed his confirmation. I needed him to want me to stay. I think he did, because he nodded.

"I suppose so," he consented. He raised his gaze to me then, a stern, evocative look in his watery eyes. "But promise me something, Meryl."

"I will," I said quickly. I immediately regretted obligating myself.

"If…" Vash hesitated, carefully choosing his words. "If anything happens, anything, I want you to take Milly and leave and not come back." I fell silent and considered this.

"Meryl?" Vash posed when I still hadn't said anything. I looked at him.

"Okay, Vash," I said. "I promise." It hurt me, but I was prepared to honour my word and respect my friend. Vash was, after all, only trying to protect me. I felt my lips curl into a tiny smile at that notion.

"Vash?" I whispered. He gazed at me. "Thank you." He looked puzzled.

"For what?" he asked.

"For…caring," I clarified. There was a moment of silence. We both of us flushed bright pink, and then smiled at one another. In that moment, I would never have believed that I would actually have to leave him. Being lulled into security and a sense of stability around him made having to leave the following day all the more shocking.

Milly and I had been walking home, in the later hours of the afternoon, from a small bout of grocery shopping, chatting, but not animatedly. I was worried for my friend, on that day, more than I was about anything else, perhaps subconsciously considering the possibility that it might not have been best for her and I to stay with Vash, as much as that cut me inside. Milly cried at night—so did I, sometimes—mourning Nicholas, no doubt, and all that had proceeded his death. It made me angry and sad that so many unjust things had happened to us since then. Milly was especially undeserving of such hurt. And Vash… I feel a sharp and stanch pain whenever I deem of imagining the tortures that man has known. There were so many things I wanted to right. I could see just too much injustice.

"Meryl?" Milly's quiet soprano voice had woken me from my reverie.

"Huh? Oh, I'm sorry, Milly!" I mumbled.

"Is something wrong, Meryl?" she asked anxiously as we approached the house.

"No," I said, adhering a reassuring smile to my face. There was no need in the world to burden her with more troubles, let alone my own. She, as well, had obviously only asked for my benefit, as she didn't further the subject. It wasn't an upset for me to know that Milly didn't really want me to share my thoughts with her. She was concerned, but I would have only greatened her wealth of problems.

"I'm fine," I said as I reached for the front door knob, and it wasn't entirely a lie.

I stopped short of the door, perceiving a frantic scuffling beyond. A foreign voice grunted and Vash yelped from within. Milly and I froze, our pulses deadening. In sequence, we heard a hard whack, followed by a thud and something dripping heavily.

"Meryl!" Milly squeaked involuntarily. She quickly covered the sound, placing her hand over her mouth and dropping her full shopping bags in the process. I flinched at the noise. I grabbed Milly's arm. She was shaking feverishly. Erratic footsteps could be heard from within the house. They grew louder, closer. Milly shot back. I tripped.

The door burst open abruptly. I gasped, Milly screamed, and Vash stepped over the threshold, alert, his eyes ablaze. Before I had even felt precious relief, I noticed the blood. Vash's shirt was spattered crimson. There were small, but yawning cuts on his arm and chest. He jerked forward and I felt several tiny droplets splash across my face. I smelt it—the bittersweet, coppery scent drove bile up towards my throat. I desperately swallowed back, scooting away.

"Vash!" I coughed. "What happen—"

"Go," he breathed. I stared, my jaw slackening. What?

"But," I protested feebly, my voice caught in my throat.

"Go!" Vash repeated forcefully. "Both of you!" I hardly noticed as his blood snaked its way down my cheek, drying and caking as it went.

"Vash, you need help!" I exclaimed, finally mastering some volume.

"NO!" he shouted. I cringed and shied away. He looked resolutely into my eyes. "Get out of here, now!"

"Mister Vash!" Milly squeaked, her voice small and quivering. Vash turned to her, his face contrite, painfully sincere, and then back to me.

"Go, Meryl," he pleaded. "While you still can!" A hand flew up to the dribbling wound on his shoulder. He grimaced, suppressing a moan.

"Vash?" I murmured. We exchanged glances, and I knew everything. Vash wanted us to stay, but knew even better than Milly and I—we, who were watching, motionless, as he bled—the dangers of remaining. Knives was conscious, there was no doubt about it.

"It's serious," Vash said, in an undertone that only I could hear. It was clearer to me than water. I had to fulfill my promise. Vash was sacrificing himself for Milly and I, and I couldn't in good conscience let him be vain.

"Milly, get in the car," I said flatly.

"But—"

"Do it now!" I commanded, severe. Milly made a tiny sob. She obeyed. I turned back to Vash.

"Take care," he said urgently, frowning with the pain.

"I'll do my best."

"And take care of her," he added.

"I will," I assured him. I looked him in the eye questioningly.

"I'll be okay," he muttered. His lack of conviction made me unsure. I wanted to believe him.

I had no time now. I made to leave, my eyes stinging, but felt Vash's grip on my sleeve. If only my vision hadn't blurred so much behind my unshed tears, I could have held his profound gaze one last time.

"Meryl," he whispered, "thank you, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"…Good luck," I croaked. And then he was gone, me driving steadily away from that tiny desert town, harshly reining back my sobs only for Milly's sake…

I idly toweled the elbow of my blouse now, trying hard not to relive any of the past six months in my mind, and finding myself pondering the present. The skin around my eyes contracted, throbbing. I quickly put my hands over my face, digging the heels of my palms in below my cheekbones. Even here, in safe, sunny Bernardelli, he was inescapable. No matter what tense I contemplated—past, present, future—he was there, a constant ghost in my thoughts. Vash never left my mind, and the prospect of him here was even worse than when I had been with him. I couldn't now even know he was alive.

My eyes brimmed over then, and Karen burst into the washroom, the epitome of inopportunity.

"Meryl!" she bellowed. Then came the long haul. "What the hell is going on? You've been in here for nearly an hour! The chief wanted you ages ago! And now he's gone home. He's very disappointed in you, Meryl, very angry indeed! So he wants you to start on your new assignment immediately—"

My ears pricked up. New assignment? But when I thought about it, it didn't really spark any positive feelings in me.

"—doesn't want to see you until you're done! Got that, Meryl?" With that, she pitched a manila folder at me. I failed to catch it in time, and the contents splayed out over the washroom tiles.

"Get to work!" Karen growled as she left. The lecture hadn't fazed me. I was just glad she hadn't noticed me crying.

I knelt down, wiping away the last of the wayward tears, and gathered up the stray leafs. My mind snapped back into proper working action, suddenly. Manila meant only one thing: fieldwork. My heart jumped a beat. I was Bernardelli's most experienced field operative. The insurance society wasn't ready yet to give up on him, I was sure. They wouldn't send anyone else but me!

I scanned the sheets frantically. Itinerary…provisions…expenses… Come on, where is the objective sheet!

I found it, and my stomach plummeted an ile, my hopes cruelly, vindictively crushed into the ground. 'Target,' I read, 'Seamus Hawkeye.'

I heaved a colossal sigh.

Thank you for reading. Review time, now! -nudges review button toward reader-