Spoilers: Yes - all Trigun Manga & Anime. This tale opens where the Vol 14 of the Manga ends.

A/N: This tale is a mixture of both Manga and Anime, but it mostly follows the Manga time line.

See All Ends

Prologue

Sir, you requested Meryl Stryfe's last report submitted to the reconstituted Bernadelli Insurance Agency, on formally resigning her position. Please see attached:

We called our world called No Man's Land. It was a good description. If you did not know how to live dodging bullets, you would die in the crossfire. The Terrans, who came after us, called it Gunsmoke for the same reason. Those Terrans, who came from the stars, from our ancient home world of Earth, were at once our salvation and our damnation. They saved us from the threat that Knives was, but sent our best into hiding. That dark knight of sorrow, whose cry was love and peace, gained another bounty on his head. Only they did it without the gall to call it such, they sent out what amounted to a requisition poster (as if he were a material asset).

I do not understand this attitude, as they have independent plants among their crews; in fact, I met one of them, Chronica, whom the former assassin Livio shot down. No Man's Land has a place for plants, as peculiar and destructive as they are, but it seems the Terran's dislike this unpredictable nature.

That aside, the Terrans put out a demand that Vash the Stampede appear before them to speak with them. However, it was clear to the mercenary bounty hunters who followed the Earth Federation Peace Force assigned to this that if they did not give the Terrans the jump, there would be no bounty to be had.

Vash the Stampede, I am in a good position to know, is at once a complete idiot, and dangerously smart. He knew the game before they knew it themselves. When they finally called him out of hiding, he declared himself to stop the Terrans destroying those who had sheltered him. Please see attached appendices of the claims by the Mesa Probe Church, and those who claim recompense against the Terrans and the mercenaries who fought in that region. I submit the first recording we made that day for further evidence of the existence of the Humanoid Typhoon. The slippery man that he is, we lost him. As a result, we have only half an hour's footage on what was supposed to be a 24 hour show, but it will serve you well enough to show the differences in his appearance to our old wanted posters.

He is the same height and build, tall and skinny, and has the same blue-green eyes and disarming smile. But his hair is black, and this is an important note with regards to plants. When the bulb enclosed plants reach the end of their efficiency, there is the (now morally questionable) practice of putting them through the 'last run' to extract the last of the power from them. After this they are decommissioned, which is to say, they die. According to what we have discovered from our own research and new knowledge from the Terrans, an independent plant whose blond hair has turned black is facing their 'last run'. No one knows how long this takes, though should the plant in question wish to extend their life, they would be advised not to use their powers.

As I resign my post at Bernadelli, and take up the position as special investigative reporter for No Man's Land Broadcasting, (with my partner Milly Thompson as my camera jockey) I have this to note. We should be careful of how we treat Vash the Stampede, as he has repeatedly saved us without thought of reward. When time comes for the reckoning of his life, I would not want to count as one who stood against him.

Yours in service,

Meryl Stryfe

Disaster Investigator,

Bernadelli Insurance.

As for the extra documentation you requested, we have supplied all we could. While recovery of information on many other major criminals or bounty heads was possible, much of the material regarding Vash the Stampede has vanished. Your implication is quite strong that Ms Stryfe must be regarded as an accomplice, as must her partner Ms Thompson. However, I have only had diligent service and honest reporting from them. Ms Stryfe in particular is meticulous in her work and would see it as a violation of honour to destroy or otherwise remove the reports she so diligently compiled. I can only say that No Man's Land Broadcasting is fortunate to have such hard workers on their team. Perhaps it would be in your interest to contact them, and to procure an interview with these young women yourself.

I am sorry we could not assist you further in this case.

Regards,

S.L. Bernadelli Jnr.

CEO Bernadelli Insurance

Main Office,

December City

Chapter 1

Meryl tucked her white cape around her, the microphones lodged where her derringers had been were now oddly discomforting. The weight of the guns she put up with without a second thought, they were survival on this world. However, she and Milly were special investigators, head hunted by the board at No Man's Land Broadcasting. She had jumped at the job, as the newly reconstituted Bernadelli Insurance had called them off the Vash the Stampede assignment, and this had allowed them right back on it, though in a different capacity. Milly had followed with her resignation at Bernadelli a few weeks later. The woman was smarter and more creative than she was, having taken a crash course in filming before requesting an assignment as her assistant. NLBC did not miss the grades she had achieved and the raw talent she exhibited, but Meryl suspected that previous experience with their subject that got her the job.

She felt her heart sink to her boots as she stood with Milly who was happily filming a groaning pile of No Man's Land mercenaries and Terrans. Vash, who had provided them with a thrilling half hours chase into the desert, had somehow vanished. She knew better than anyone that if he truly wanted to lose them they would not find him. What was worse, all she had on film was Vash making a fool of himself. He was supposed to be the great hero, yet he acquired the most horrible stage fright when faced with a camera. He had scuttled off inelegantly; dodging bullets from the cross fire of the Terrans and mercenaries as if they were not there, and wailing for them to please leave him alone. His pathetic wailing really grated; it had drowned out the speech she was supposed to have said right after his. She had practiced it for weeks, but being no actor, still had to read it off script instead of repeating it verbatim.

"It's a wrap for today, Milly." She said tiredly to her partner. Milly lowered the camera.

"Wasn't Mister Vash amusing?"

Meryl's mouth twitched, amusing was the last word she would have used. That man, he had the astounding ability to rub her up the wrong way.

"Yes." She said through her teeth, the sarcasm dripping. "Amusing."

She pulled out her pocket map and inspected it. They were perhaps an ile to an ile and a half from Mesa Probe Church, that put the next town of Bristol three iles away. NLBC, however was a step up from Bernadelli, they paid enough for her to be able to save a good chunk of her salary, and they provided a van. Milly chatted about the gun battle and how pleased she was at how well the Terrans and the locals were getting along. Meryl glanced back, they had run out of ammunition, but that did not stop the brawls and wrestling. They reached their van three quarters of an hour later after crossing the trail of blood, spent bullet shells and discarded weapons that indicated the direction Vash had scarpered. She had picked up a derringer lying discarded on the ground. She pocketed the small gun, amused at how comforted she felt by its presence.

The van was a gunmetal grey armor plated vehicle and cool inside. Milly went to the back where the editing computers were and set about editing the days shoot so they could send NLBC the rushes for the day, as well as the entire unedited footage. They had planned to run it live twenty four hours, but who wanted to watch hours upon hours of desert pass as they searched for their elusive prey. Meryl started up the van and Milly came through and fixed the camera to the clamp in the centre of the cab so that it filmed through the front windscreen.

"So that we can continue filming." She smiled and went back to her editing.

Iles and iles of desert it was. Meryl pitied anyone stupid enough to want to watch it.

They reached Bristol town two hours later. She had taken the roundabout route in the desert - the van doing valiantly with its four-wheel drive- to avoid attracting the Terrans and the mercenaries. She parked it at the first boarding house she found, and left Milly editing while she paid for their lodging for the night. She then staked out Vash's usual haunts. He was not in the saloon, nor playing with the children in the town square, nor in the doughnut shop. They smelled so good; she helped herself to two as a treat, and packaged another two for her partner. That was what hanging around Vash the Stampede did; one gradually came to like what he did out of his sheer enthusiasm. She had always enjoyed the odd doughnut as a treat, but he wolfed them down. She reluctantly passed the small café, as it did not seem to be selling any ice cream, and went back to the boarding house.

If Vash were in town, he would show up eventually as he was incapable of leading a quiet life. She walked up the stairs to their shared room on the second floor and faltered in her steps, as the man himself stepped out from his room. He was now clad in what he clearly thought was a disguise, if his spiky hairstyle did not give him away, a regular grey coat over a linen shirt and dark grey slacks. He blinked at her, but that was all the surprise he showed, then his face split into a grin.

"It's the short broadcast girl!" He declared, exuding enthusiasm.

Oh, so that was the game was it? Not using her name again. She could count on one hand how many times he had said her name. He swanned over and deftly relieved her of the box of doughnuts she carried. "Oh, they make them pretty in this town!" He spoke around munching mouthfuls and got out an equally muffled. "Thank you."

It would not be worth the bother telling him that they had not been for him.

"See you!" He lifted his hand in a wave and sauntered off down the stairs licking colourful sprinkles off his fingers.

She walked up to her room and rolled her eyes. She and Milly shared number eleven, to his thirteen. Right next door, what luck was that, or in his case, bad luck? She could still smell the waft of an intriguing scent that had lingered after he had gone. It threw her directly back into the old days of chasing him around the Outer. She had tried to discover what the scent was, but none of the gentleman's shops in the city had anything to match it. She leaned her forehead against the door. He was her job, and could be nothing more. She had watched the footage of the Terran's arrival and the defeat of Knives, almost daily for the last six months. It had been a spectacular event, but eclipsed by the three seconds of seeing Vash in his strange angel form before ensuing explosions hid him with their clouds of debris. That was the other Vash. The Vash the bounty hunters were after, not the smiling Vash who stole Milly's doughnuts. She pushed the thought away and opened the door.

Her bed was against the left wall of the room, and her pink travel bag was jammed under it. She was so used to having to pack up in a hurry with Vash around that she did not bother to unpack. She pulled out the bag and extracted the typewriter. She had thought that leaving Bernadelli would have eliminated report writing, which she loathed. Thus she had been horrified when NLBC had requested a detailed report, with dialogue, about the day's events. She set the typewriter down on the vanity table and wound in a new page. She caught sight of her disgruntled expression in the mirror and glared at herself. In fact, it was worse. Written reports were required every day, rather than at the end of an assignment, perhaps this was why they had given her a pay raise.

The television screen at the far end of the ships galley had captured an unusual number of watchers. This was not because of the quality of the programming – the Gunsmoke Natives were awful, preferring sentimentality, sensationalism and crude comedy. Usually the screens within the ship showed reruns of various shows from Earth. However, like today, there were exceptions. There was a new show detailing the antics of Vash the Stampede, and more and more frequently, the local evening news reports, usually for the same reason. Chronica found herself mildly diverted by the frenetic chase and chaotic gun battle. It was standard fare on this world. But what pinned her there, watching to the very end was the actual appearance of Vash the Stampede. It was him. There was no mistake. Mesa Probe Church. Ah, so that was where Vash was… She waited with baited breath, watching everything closely. But the show ended frustratingly with him running off into the desert. Chronica watched the edited chase scene replay the programmers put on and discussed, without hearing them. Where the hell was Knives? She was determined to catch Knives, and keeping an eye on Vash might just give her the lead she needed.

"Ah! Here you are Chronica!"

She felt a slight shock at how absorbed she had been in her own thoughts. She glanced down at the friendly if slightly harassed face of Panse. He was trying to keep all his crew pacified, allowing them to adjust to the idea that they were stuck on this world. He had already had to force several people to cool off their frustrations in the brig. She had accepted that they were trapped on Gunsmoke the day that her ship had been shot down.

"There is a request for you to be down at Domina's containment unit. Is your communicator not working again?"

She gave an irritated click of her tongue and dug the thing out of her pocket. Sure enough the battery was dead. Third time this week, she had to get a replacement. She sighed. Since they were not returning to earth, any supplies the ship had were at a premium. She would just have to dig into her savings.

"I'll meet Kelvogh there now. I just have to arrange a few things before it's too late to have them taken to the Steamer."

"You headed out again?"

"Yes. December this time. They want an independent plant's expertise installing the power plants there. The Kantankle Institute offered me enough money to make it worth my while."

Panse raised an eyebrow. Everyone knew the people of Gunsmoke had very little hard cash.

"They paid my steamer fair, board and lodging. I booked a guide to take me around town. Free travel is not to be sneezed at."

Panse nodded, understanding her need to find fresh air, even if it was desiccated baked air of Gunsmoke.

"Glad you are keeping busy." He said with a sorrowful look, understanding she is still mourning Domina.

She went down to the containment unit. An elderly man, Dr Kelvogh, sat beside the capsule, watching the readout data with an exhausted eye. He looked up and smiled as she entered.

"There is a slight response." He said as he stood.

Chronica felt her heart lift and hurried over. They had been scouring the medical research of No Man's Land, and had found a particular enhancer used by many in the underworld to augment their abilities. Like morphine it had its negative qualities, but judiciously used for medical purposes – perhaps it would bring about the cure they sought. But when she saw the readouts she felt her heart sink worse than it had been. All the improvement she saw was a raised core temperature and heart rate. The brain signals, and more importantly a pulse of gate activity that was usual in a sleeping plant was utterly absent. It had been several months, and still Domina lay there in a coma. She clenched her hand into a fist of fury. Millions Knives would pay for this. She smiled, so as not to disappoint Kelvogh. He nodded and went back to his work. At least she had someone as dedicated as he to look after her. Being in her presence merely exhausted and frustrated Chronica. There was nothing she could do. She hated the helplessness. She left the containment unit, relieved she had taken on the job. It would distract her.

Vash lay back on his bed and let out a frustrated huff. He had reentered the boarding house only when the girls had extinguished the light in their room. He had forgotten how lively those insurance girls were. No, they were not insurance girls now, more like broadcast girls. What was up with that? Something had happened; he could not quite see the short one as having given up her derringers for that. He scrubbed his hand through his hair, he was going to have to find a way to ditch them and fast. He had not minded them that much when they worked for Bernadelli, actually a twist in his gut reminded him, he had. He had also really struggled to give them the slip when they were after him. He would have to watch the big one she was prone to putting tracking devices on him. Why did they always find him before something big went down?

"Vash?" The door creaked open and a slash of light lanced across the room from the outside hall. He considered the distance to the nearest window, or the option of hiding under the bed. He had shut the shutters over the window so the temptation would not be to film him through there. Under the bed was a tight fit, but a sacrifice of pride was in order, he rolled himself to the edge of his bed when he smelled it. Fresh doughnuts. Well damn, somehow, just the smell dissolved his dark thoughts, and he let out a breath of pleasure. The doughnuts were accompanied by two glasses and a rather fine bottle of whiskey. These preceded Meryl as she put her head around the door.

"Are you asleep?"

And miss free doughnuts and whiskey, not a chance.

"Naw." He smiled and lay back on his bed.

She elbowed the light switch and closed the door behind her with her foot.

Interesting, she did not wear her cape; in fact, she wore a long belted blouse and leggings. He watched the way her clothing fell suspiciously; perhaps she did have a microphone concealed there. He would have to watch what he said.

She hooked the chair by the table in the room with her foot and managed to drag it across to beside his bed. He scooted over so she could put her peace offerings beside him. He filched a doughnut while she poured the whiskey. Oh, and they were fresh!

He enjoyed the doughnuts and several shots of whiskey. Meryl was taking her time to come to the point of the conversation and he was more than happy to let her ramble on about the old times. It gave him time to think of an escape plan. He scratched his usual method, running away, as that was going to leave many doughnuts and half a bottle of whiskey behind. He tried to think, ah yes, the short one had always glared at him whenever he had tried to proposition a pretty lady. Hah, that might work to get rid of her.

He waited for an appropriate break in her conversation and turned his well-practiced smile on her.

"So what is the reason you slipped into my room?" He asked in his most charmingly smooth voice.

It had what he thought was a good effect. Her mouth dropped open, her face paled and she stared at him. Now to push the effect home. He sat up smoothly, and leaned over to put his arm around her shoulders. Ow. Ow, ow… He suddenly remembered the reason he had not sat up when she had entered. Over eager romancing forgotten, he clutched at his stomach.

"Vash?" She leaned over him with real concern now.

"Never mind." He tried to smile; he did not want her concerned for him. He wanted her gone. Away from him. Safe.

"You're bleeding!" She gasped and placed the whiskey bottle and her glass on the floor.

He was? He peered down at the blood seeping into his sleep shirt, oh man.

"I have some bandages." She scurried out of the room.

He gingerly lifted his shirt and checked the wound he had bandaged earlier. It was just seeping. She must have had her first aid kit beside her door as she was back in less than five seconds after leaving.

"Get your shirt off." She told him.

"What?"

She gave him a strange look then, something a mixture of sympathy and annoyance.

"I know what you look like, and you can't sleep in a bloody shirt." She lectured.

He so could! He double-checked that the door and windows were both shut. This he refused to allow just anyone to see. That camera was a righteous pain in the arse.

She put a small hand on his side beside the wound and frowned at it. He was astonished at how suddenly all he was aware of were the small fingers exploring his flesh. Perhaps letting her change his bandage was not a bad idea. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and removed his shirt. He heard her small intake of breath as he did so and grimaced in the folds before he pulled it off his head. So much for knowing what he looked like.

She draped his shirt over the back of her chair and he clenched his teeth as she set about removing the old bandage, cleaning the wound and putting fresh bandages in its place.

"Is that the only place you're hurt?" She asked.

He suddenly found he wanted to invent injuries. However, that was no way to get rid of her. She must have seen the quandary on his face as she half stood and ran her fingers through his hair. Wow that felt good. His smile froze on his face as she sat down beside him on the bed.

No, this was not good. A quick escape was needed.

He flopped back down on his back, clenching his teeth at the sharp stab of abdominal pain reminding him not to make such sudden movements.

"Thanks for that!" He exclaimed with a broad smile. "I'll be able to sleep well now!"

"We still have some whiskey and doughnuts." She reminded him.

He relaxed. Whiskey and doughnuts he could handle.

"Wonderful!" He said brightly.

He woke groggily the next morning to someone shuffling outside his door. He tensed to dive under his bed when his movement shifted a warm presence beside him. He felt his stomach drop as he discovered Meryl stretched out alongside him, her face pressed against his ribs. When had this happened? He racked his brains. She was still in her clothes and he still had his trousers on, so nothing had gone down, but she was in his bed and this was really not a good thing. She shifted and pressed a hand against his side. What was it with her touch? It sent his thoughts out of his head, darts of pleasure skittering over his skin and pooled warmth in other areas.

In that distracted moment the door was pushed open and the big girl walked in with the camera on her shoulder. He gaped at her in horror.

"Morning, Mr Vash!" She called with a broad smile. "Morning Meryl!"

Meryl gave an inarticulate cry, launched herself from the bed beside him and flew at Milly. The taller woman stumbled back in surprise.

"Meryl?" She breathed, hurt.

"Get that camera off!" The shorter woman pulled the huge television camera down and with a practiced movement, snapped the side of it open and ripped a panel out of it. She threw the offending piece of equipment across the room.

"But Meryl!" Milly gaped at the wrecked memory pack.

Meryl turned back to her partner.

"Get out."

Milly looked crestfallen and trooped out.

Meryl shut the door after her and leaned against it breathing hard.

Vash lay back, unable to help the expansive grin on his face. Perhaps this was going to work out so much better than he had expected.

Meryl returned to Milly's room after gingerly retrieving the memory pack and a saying a hushed sorry to Vash. He had given her a civil nod, for which she was relieved, as his earlier smile had had a touch of vindictiveness. She knew he wasn't a vindictive person, so that had been a warning, but from what? She felt chastened, it only went to show that she thought she knew him, but he kept vast areas of his life and personality hidden.

Milly was installing a new memory pack into the camera as she went in.

"I'm sorry, Miss Meryl, I didn't realize you did not want to be in the shot!" Milly stumbled over herself to apologize.

Meryl had an odd smile on her face; it stuck there without her being able to get rid of it. She must have slept most of the night with her face against his side, and now all she could smell in her nostrils was that wonderful scent. However, now that she tried to think she realized that adrenalin and panic had overridden her awareness of last night's copious consumption of whiskey. She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose to try to dim the headache.

"Milly, it was our brief to film him twenty four hours a day. You were right in coming in so early, sorry I reacted like I did."

"Was he good to you Meryl?" Milly asked, delicately.

Her eyes sprang open and she stared at her partner for the audacity of the insinuation.

"I changed his bandages and we ate doughnuts and drank far too much whiskey. I do not remember falling asleep next to him. However, I do know nothing happened. Imagine sleeping with him, Milly, I pity the girl!"

"Meryl." Milly said, sadly and gently.

She shot her partner a warning look not to push it further, and then smiled.

"Let me change and we can go and follow him around today. If he has half the hangover I do, it should be amusing."

They entered his room five minutes later and Meryl braced herself for a second encounter with him. She gaped at the bed in mounting dismay. She clenched her fists and ground her teeth, willing herself not to scream in fury. Milly was filming the empty bed, the empty room, and the open window with the curtains catching the breeze. He was gone.