The following is what I imagine some of Vash's thoughts might be about five decades after Trigun [Maximum] has finished. This should work equally well for either Anime or Manga.

Disclaimer: I do not own Trigun / Vash or Meryl. They both belong to the amazing Mr. Yasuhiro Nightow.

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Too Late

Year 164 month 2 day 5

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Meryl, my friend, I'm sorry.

I stand across the street, looking at your house.

I see the house where you moved, after you married. It's the same house where you still live.

When I heard you had married, I was happy for you.

I hope that you were happy, too.

I look again at your house, the house where you raised your children.

I came through this town, more than a few times.

I watched your children playing, in the park down the street.

I watched when you weren't looking.

I saw your children when they were just learning to walk.

I saw them riding bicycles.

I saw your sons playing sports, and your daughters shopping for jewelry.

I saw them visit you, bringing your grandchildren.

I watched your grandchildren grow. I know that you have great-grandchildren now.

I heard that your husband died last month.

I am so very sorry for your loss.

I know that you had wanted more from me, more than friendship, back in the days when we traveled together. After Milly mentioned it, I saw it in your eyes. You wanted more than I knew how to give; more than I was able to give, back then.

I didn't know what to do or say. I was confused. I liked you as a friend. I knew I could not love you like you wanted me to.

I never meant to hurt you. I hoped that by staying away, you would forget me. I thought that would be easier for you.

Until this year, I always felt more comfortable around children. I thought that was because they were less inclined to judge me. Children often welcomed me, if they didn't know who I was.

I have learned, very recently, that it was more than that.

I thought like a child. I felt like a child.

I wanted friends and family. People I could laugh with. People I could play with. People I could trust not to attack me. People that might hug me sometimes and I could hug them back.

I wasn't as stupid as I pretended to be. I was old when you met me, more than a hundred. Yet there were so many things that I could not understand.

One of those things is the kind of love that can grow between a man and a woman.

I've always known that I'm male. It was a fact, no different from knowing that our world has two suns. For me, it was no different from knowing that there are both children and adults.

Until a few months ago, I never really felt that I am male. Not the way I do now, from the soles of my feet to the ends of my hair. I feel it especially strongly when I see a pretty girl wander by.

I grew tall, and needed to shave, more than a century ago. My voice deepened until it sounded like a man's, instead of a boy's.

I assumed that meant I was an adult. I think everyone else assumed that, too.

The other parts of adolescence, though, they waited until this year.

Now I know what it is to want a wife, and to crave that closeness until my very bones ache.

Is this what you felt, when you looked at me that way?

I never knew it could be so intense, or so painful.

I'm sorry. I didn't understand. I couldn't feel it, not then. It wasn't your fault.

I should tell you so.

I walk across the street, and stand in front of your door.

I knock.

I hear your footsteps approaching. I see the door open.

I know you, for I have seen you from a distance. I have watched over you, when I could.

I didn't let you see me, not then.

Your hair has all turned grey. Your eyes are half-hidden behind thick-lensed glasses. Your face has many soft folds in its skin.

You look up at me, squinting. The suns are behind me. I am only a shadow in your doorway.

"Yes," you say, blinking at the brightness behind me. "What do you need?"

I open my mouth to speak. The words catch in my throat.

Perhaps you have forgotten me completely.

If you have forgotten me, should I remind you? Would that help you to heal, or would it only bring you more pain?

I swallow, hard.

I'm wearing different sunglasses now. My hair is not spiked, but longer. It covers my ears and the sides of my face.

You don't know me, not from my shadow.

I haven't grown old, as you have.

I open my mouth again, but still I cannot bring myself to speak what is in my heart.

I cannot say how I always valued your friendship, and how sorry I am that I could not reciprocate what was in your heart.

The words that I need elude me.

Finally, I mumble something about the name of the family who lives two doors away.

"Oh, no," you say. "They're not here, they live that way."

You point.

I thank you, and back away.

You smile amiably, and close your door.

I sigh, and wander off.

I have been a sad excuse for a friend. I cannot find the words to apologize.

Even for that, it is too late.