Disclaimer – Trigun belongs to Nightow-sama… :sighs forlornly:

Author's Notes – Hi all! I hope everyone's summer is off to a great start! Mine's going quite well… well, the number 5 works periodically on my keyboard now, but since I went and changed my email address I suppose it doesn't much matter. For now anyways…

But being more to the point, that means I can update now. :does a little happy dance - which is ironic cuz she's listening to Chevelle's The Red: Weird, but I love that song. Anyways, Miss Chang Po just had to show me up an' all by updating :Miss Chang Po proceeds to blow raspberry: so I decided to post a fic of my own. Since you guys wanted some more Trigun, I decided to post this oneshot, but since it's not finished (damn you, Chang Po!) I split it into two parts. It's got its fluffy moments, but for the most part this one's a bit angsty. Hope no one minds… I should also note that in this fic not everything is as it seems. So, until I get part two finished, enjoy onegaishimasu!

December 25th, 2004 (hehe, started this a way while back…)

Insurance Girl

He took a long look at the young woman before him, barely able to conceal his disbelief. Normally, he'd be expected to find her in an office, hunched over a typewriter, or immersed in a stack of paperwork. Instead, here she was – a far cry from her usual self, slouched drunkenly against the counter. Her normally sharp and alert eyes were lidded and hazed over, staring listlessly at the floor as a half-empty (or full depending on your outlook) glass held loosely in hand.

Yes, she was in fact in a bar.

It took everything in him to hold back any smart-ass remarks; the poor girl had really let herself go.

Directing a quick glance at the bartender, who seemed oblivious to both of them, he took a seat beside her. A few moments of silence passed before he reached into the folds of his jacket, pulling out a crooked cigarette, lighting it and taking a slow drag. A slow smirk made its way across his face as his action drew the attention of his neighbor.

She seemed pissed; he grinned.

"Hey."

For his troubles, he earned a surly scowl. Stormy gray eyes, once sharp as steel, settled on him blearily as slurred words came forth. "Hey yurrself."

Well, somebody was certainly drunk. Suffice to say, he was relieved she was still conscious. He grinned again, taking another puff from his cigarette.

She lifted her head slowly, as if a heavy weight had settled upon it. "What're you doin' here…?"

"I should ask you the same question."

She blinked slowly at the mug that was suddenly in his hands. He paused before bringing it to his lips, fixing her with a puzzled look. "What? One should never have to drink alone…" At that, he took a drink. It wasn't as strong as he'd thought it'd be; pity. "It's pathetic."

Her eyes narrowed and crossed as she gave an unladylike snort. "Isn't it a bit early for you to be drinking?" she replied. "Usually you wait until later in the evening to get plastered."

He hadn't been aware that she'd noticed... fancy that."Well," He took into account the nearly finished bottle of Bourbon sitting behind her head. "Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black…"

To his surprise, she merely laughed, letting out another undignified snort. This induced another bout of giggles before she took a sip out of her glass. "Black…such a dismal color…" She turned to him oblivious to the look he was giving her. "You certainly wear a lot of black… why is that, Wolfwood-san?"

He blinked and then paused with a grin. "I think it really helps slim my figure. Don't you?"

She laughed outright again, nearly toppling out of her chair. He started forward to steady her, but she caught herself in time shooing his hands away.

"Hey, you!" she managed to stumble out. "You keep your hands to yourself, you, you… shady priest! I'm not Milly, y'know!"

She missed the look that skirted quickly over his face, only to be quickly masked over by a lecherous grin. "Sheesh, Short Girl, you sure know how to take the fun out of everything." She took a swing at him and he deftly avoided it, causing her to tumble harmlessly into his open arms. He steadied her back on her seat again before she could make a fuss. "Calm down, can't a guy try an' be a gentleman without being pummeled?"

"Wolfwood-san," she said tersely – her tone belied the fact that he knew she was piss-drunk. Heh… how ironic. "I know what you're thinking…"

He quirked an eyebrow, "Oh really now?"

"Yesh – I mean, yes… really." She frowned a moment. "You - you're thinking… I'm here in this bar with this bottle of Bourbon – which is nowhere as good as it should be considering how many double-dollars I shelled out for it," At this point she cast a look at the bartender who just ignored her. "You're thinking I'm drunk, but I'll have you know right now, Wolfwood-san," She drained the last dregs from her glass, topping it off with a swig from the bottle – Wolfwood gawked at this – and pushed away from the counter, standing up shakily. "I… am not drunk!"

Immediately following that statement she tripped over the barstool, tumbling into his arms.

He expelled a puff of smoke, rolling his eyes. "Sure, Short Girl," 'And I'm the frickin' Queen of Scots…'

000

"That was some stunt you pulled…" She blinked down at the mug of coffee currently in her hands. Where had that come from?

Shaking off her surprise, she directed her attention to the figure beside her – as best as she could given the circumstances. "You shouldn't be so surprised," she replied haughtily, before taking a grateful sip of the caffeine-laden drink in her hands. It wouldn't prevent the hangover that was sure to come, but the adrenaline rush would be good while it lasted. "Yes, the unflap-appable," Here she made a little face at her error. "Meryl Stryfe of Bernardelli is capable of getting –hic– drrrunk."

Wolfwood took another drag from his seemingly ever-present cigarette. "Clearly."

A few moments of silence passed before she let out a snort of laughter.

"Something funny?"

She shook her head, trying to gather her wits. "I'm just surprised, is all…" She smirked absently. "Shouldn't you be pulling out that mini Confessional Booth of yours right about now?"

"Sorry… don't have it on me at the moment…" Her face fell considerably. "You got something you need to confess, Short Girl?"

Another laugh came from her, "I got tons a'stuff to confess, Mr. Priest." She leaned down to take another sip from her coffee. "Just goes to show you I'm not as straight-laced as everyone likes to think I am."

Wolfwood studied her briefly. "Uh huh… I guess not." She remained silent. "Y'know… you never did answer my question."

"What question?"

He knocked a few embers from his cigarette, pausing to give her a searching look. She squirmed uneasily under his gaze. "What's a not-so-straight-laced Insurance Girl like you doing in a place like that?"

Meryl bristled, setting her now-empty mug down next to her before sticking her nose up in the air in a typical indignant fashion. "That is really none of your business, Wolfwood-san," she replied tersely. "You may think I'm just an uptight Insurance agent, but even I'm entitled to go out and get drunk every once in a while."

Every once and awhile, huh? How many of these incidents had he missed so far?

"I'll have you know, Miss Insurance Agent, that there is going out for a few drinks, and then there is going out and getting completely shit-faced." Wolfwood expelled a puff of smoke into the air. "The two are completely different. No one goes out and deliberately gets drunk off their ass unless they've got something they want to forget." He paused, smirking thoughtfully. "If you don't believe me, go ask Vash. Hell, I'm sure he's got tons of stuff he'd rather—"

At the mention of the gunman's name, the brunette visibly flinched.

"I'm not going to ask that twit anything."

"Oh-ho… does there happen to be some problem with our blonde friend?"

Meryl scowled bitterly. "There's always a problem with him."

He paused. "Well… yeah… but that's just how he is."

The small Insurance agent growled. "There's so many sides to him… you can never be sure which one you're dealing with."

"Heh… that's just a defense mechanism… Keeps enemies on their toes."

"And what about his fr… the people who know him?" Wolfwood glanced at her after the slip. "He's hardly ever serious – only when there's somebody in danger do I ever…" She shook her head roughly. "I thought he'd changed at least a little… but still all this time he – damn it!"

At this moment, the priest rose from his post, moving himself to sit down behind her. Before she could comment on what he was doing, he had placed both of his hands over her eyes.

"Wolfwood-san… what are you doing?"

"Relax already," he replied with an amused smirk. "You're way too tense."

She paused for a moment, screwing her face into a put out frown. "Your hands are cold."

He was quiet a moment. "Sorry… can't be helped."

Meryl merely sighed. "So, care to explain what we're doing?"

"You asked for a Confessional booth," Wolfwood explained. "From the looks of it, seems like you really need one—" He avoided the elbow aimed at his midsection. "So, as a gentleman and a man of the cloth, it is my duty to oblige you."

"How gracious of you…"

Silence reigned for several minutes. She fidgeted a few times out of nervousness; all the while he remained with his hands over her eyes.

"Whenever you're ready, my dear,"

"He's… he's going to leave."

He paused, glancing down at her. "'He'? You mean Vash?"

She merely nodded. "And soon. He's talked about how dangerous it was for us to travel with us from the very beginning… but I think… I think this time he's going to try and put his foot down."

Wolfwood, in 'Preacher-mode', nodded thoughtfully. "And far be it from you to take this upset lying down, of course."

"In Augusta… he asked us what was more important, our jobs or our lives…"

"Risk Prevention is your job, right?" he asked. "Life-threatening situations just come with the territory."

"It's not about that – not anymore." Wolfwood noticed her hands trembling slightly. "I don't… I don't want him to go…"

The priest's eyes widened in surprise.

She laughed humorlessly. "Y'know… it's so stupid of me to feel this way… I knew if I let myself get too close this would happen but…" She let out a shaky breath. "If he leaves… I-I don't know what I'll do… Wolfwood-san… I'm so stupid…"

"Hey, don't be like that," He felt the need to pat her shoulder reassuringly, but kept his hands in place to prevent her the embarrassment of knowing he was witnessing the 'unflap-appable' Meryl Stryfe in such state. "You're one of the sharpest women I know, Short Girl, and I've known quite a few…" He could have sworn she rolled her eyes. "Not necessarily in the biblical sense... sheesh, Short Girl. The point is, even the greatest of us have our moments… you try talking to him yet?"

He felt her tense up.

A few moments of strained silence followed before she let out the most sorrowful sound he had ever heard. "It doesn't matter," she replied, laughing ruefully. "It doesn't matter what I say, what I do… it'll never change."

Wolfwood was quiet a moment. "What will never change?"

She pulled his hands away from her eyes to glance up at him, paying no heed to the tears brimming her eyes. "I'll always be his 'Insurance Girl'."

The priest fought the urge to groan. 'Tongari, you're a freakin' coward…'

End Part 1