DISCLAIMER: Trigun and its characters belong to Yasuhiro Nightow.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: When I'm drowning, when all there is is knowing I can never make it right and I'll never do any good, why do I not end it? Because she would be disappointed in me if I did. For the reason I keep fighting through my life sentence without her – happy birthday, angel. Miss you always.
Happy Birthday
"So how's it feel to be celebrating your birthday in December after more than a year?" Vash the Stampede asked.
Meryl Stryfe looked up at her Vash as they walked the streets this day of what used to be her city, dodging the hustle and bustle as a single unit. It was strange to realize that much time had passed; it seemed like such a short time ago he'd brought his brother back. A pattern had fallen into place, a life centered around taking care of Knives and fighting to stay under the radar without crashing. She was fully aware there was something between her and Vash that they were dancing around; the little stolen moments of intimacy they shared were proof of that. But she'd never been particularly good at sorting out complex emotions, and her relationship with him was no different. It was easier just to think of him as her Vash.
"First," she retorted, relying on irritation to save her from introspection, "we're not celebrating one single thing! A birthday is one day out of many, it's nothing to get excited over…and who wants to celebrate getting older, anyway?" A few moments passed while she thought about her second thing. "Truthfully? I thought I'd be happy to be back, but I'm not sure it feels like anyplace I want to be anymore. It's so crowded, so hurried; I can't say with certainty that it feels good. What?" she asked at his grin.
"You're changing, insurance girl," he told her. "We'll make an outlaw out of you yet."
"Hmph!" Meryl responded, glad to be back to simple emotions. "I will never be an outlaw, thank you very much!"
"Oh, yeah?" Vash challenged, a twinkle in his eye. "What does the Bernardelli Insurance Society Field Manual state for Section C, Code Three dash Five-One-Six?"
Meryl rolled her eyes. "You're testing me now? Fine! Section C, Code Three dash Five-One-Six states that – well, it says that…" She paused in thought, finding herself unable to recall. "It slips my mind for the moment. Don't you smirk at me, I'll think of it later!"
"How do you make a gunslinger girl?"
"One part bourbon, one part scotch, teaspoon sugar, squeezed lemon, dash of cinnamon, mix," she said automatically. "Sugar and spice with a bullet to the heart." Blinked. "Now wait just a minute, all that proves is I work in a bar!" Her finger stabbed at him for emphasis. If he weren't so damn tall, she could and would have poked him in the chest.
"Granted. But what do you do when something goes wrong, who do you call?"
"Nobody."
"It's not anyone's job to take care of your emergencies?"
"Of course it's someone's job – mine!"
Vash grinned at her. "Sounds like an outlaw to me."
Meryl made an exasperated noise. "I think we need to get our definitions straight before we go any further. To me, an outlaw is one of those uncivilized people you're always getting into gunfights with. The Nebraskas, for example, they're outlaws."
"But so was Wolfwood. So am I. I'm not uncivilized."
"HA!" She snorted, her opinion of his statement clear. "Rather than try to pick any of several thousand counters I have for that, why don't you enlighten me with your definition of outlaw?"
"Sure thing. For one, the Nebraskas are criminals. Just because they're outside the law doesn't specifically make them outlaws."
"So what would?"
Vash shrugged. "You said it yourself, more or less. Outlaws take care of themselves. We're not out to hurt people, but we're not going to do things just because some outside authority says we need to. What would you do if a gang of bandits tried to take your house?"
"It depends on the situational factors."
"But what would be your strategy? Are you going to stand there going 'Aw, come on, guys!' Or are you going to fight?"
"You know I'd fight."
"Same situation, but the gang is wearing suits and has paperwork instead of guns. What do you do when the law says they're right?"
"I still fight them, just differently. Nobody's going to take what's mine!" Meryl's jaw was set defiantly.
"And if the law ultimately says you just have to accept it?"
"Look, Vash, I got the house in part so you'd have a place to live and warehouse that worthless specimen you claim as brother, but it's mine. I say it's yours too, because we've paid for it with the sweat and work we've put into building it up and making it a home for us and Knives and Milly; but whether mine or ours, nobody's going to tell me what I can, can't, or must do with it!"
"How very outlaw of you."
A strangled sound of extreme annoyance came from Meryl, much to Vash's amusement. But before the exchange could continue, he nudged her. "Six o'clock behind you, brown coat, black hat. Been with us a quarter-ile now, keeping pace."
"Doesn't really mean anything, pedestrians fall into patterns. Let's do a check," Meryl suggested.
They stopped to look at a store display, Meryl glancing out the corner of her eye as she turned. The person Vash had described was stopped, examining a bulletin board. "One more check to be absolutely sure," she said.
"Works for me."
They strolled past a few windows, glancing as if to see if anything caught their eye, while actually checking reflections. Stopped at one. Again, the person behind them stopped.
"Looks official," Vash commented. "We've got a tail."
"Who do you think he is?"
He shrugged and pretended to point out a jewelry box. "Bounty hunter. Fed. How do we know he's following me? Maybe he's following you. Maybe Bernardelli found out you're moonlighting."
"Tch. Their stingy stipends practically make my job a requirement."
Vash looked at her, his mouth quirked in a half-smile. "Your job?"
Meryl fought to keep from flushing. "My second job. Damn it, will you stop implying I've somehow changed?"
"Sure." He chuckled. "For now. What are you thinking about our friend?"
Meryl pointed at another item to keep up the pretense of window-shopping. "Obviously, we don't want to lead him back to our hotel. We could always split up, force him to make a choice. We'd at least find out which of us he's following that way."
"Yeah, but I don't like the thought of you on your own like that."
She willed her head not to whip around at him. "After all this outlaw nonsense, are you seriously saying you're afraid I'll get hurt?"
"What? No. If anything, I'm afraid you'll get impatient and just shoot him."
That mollified her somewhat. Vash liked this; while temperamental, Meryl also had a habit of seeing herself as nothing less than ladylike, and in times past the suggestion that she would just shoot someone like that would have definitely offended her, however true it might be. That she hadn't immediately taken offense just now was something he took as more proof that the life they were now living was yielding a less high-strung Meryl, and that was good for everyone.
"Whether we stay together or separate," she pointed out, "we're starting to give ourselves away just standing here. We need to start moving again."
"Right. So will you trust me?"
"We're out of time to argue, so lead the way."
Vash did indeed lead the way, taking her hand and setting the pace and course even as he stayed by her side. One brief check at an intersection confirmed their tail was staying with them; Meryl forced back her concerns about not splitting up, there was nothing to be done about it now. She could always jerk away and take off on her own, forcing the situation. Now that the she thought about it, that seemed like the sort of thing she might once have done.
Hmm, maybe her life with Vash, her new life under the radar, was changing her more than she thought.
As they walked, the walkway traffic thinned out, their surroundings becoming less refined. It became easier and easier to spot their follower, until eventually they were in the warehouse part of December and it was just them and him. Vash judged that the jig was just about up…
"Now!" he barked, keeping Meryl's hand firmly in his as he pulled her around a corner and broke into a run. A shot rang out behind them; their follower had just become a pursuer.
"Well, that escalated quickly," Meryl noted.
"Less talking, more running!" In fact, the hell with it – to compensate for their difference in strides, he just leaned down and wrapped an arm around her waist, lifting her up. Meryl yelped in surprise before realizing what he was doing and wrapping her legs around his waist. New Meryl wasn't about to argue when they were being shot at.
Vash took them down this street and that before finally ducking down an alley beside a warehouse. He set her down, breathing hard. "In here." Wasting no time on ceremony, he simply kicked open the poorly-secured side door.
It was pitch dark inside as Vash closed the door, but at least they would be hidden from the person chasing them. They were safe, she thought.
Until the overhead lights came on, momentarily blinding her. Her hands were already under her cape when –
"SURPRISE!"
She instantly released the derringers she had been going to draw, putting it together almost before the many voices had finished the two syllables.
Vash's arm went around her as coworkers and friends blew noisemakers and threw confetti. "Sorry about the setup," he apologized sincerely. "But you're a very hard woman to surprise. And so you know, I'm not celebrating you getting older, I'm celebrating that you exist."
Meryl snorted, putting her annoyance into a mental box and sealing it. "Later, we'll be discussing your tendency to do things…over the top, let's say. Among other topics. But for now – thank you for the thought."
Vash grinned and opened his mouth, but Meryl quickly silenced him with a poke of her elbow in his side. "Not one word about how I never would have thanked you in the past. Manners are not a trait of outlaws."
"They are if they keep you alive," he said, but all that got him was another elbow poke as they went to join her party.
"Chief!" Meryl exclaimed at her boss, who was wearing a pointed party hat. "Of all people, I didn't expect to see you here!"
Her portly superior smiled. "Ms. Thompson invited everyone you've ever known in the company in person, and I would have said yes even if she hadn't had her finger on her stun gun's trigger. You know, you and she don't seem like the same people you used to be. I daresay your time away has changed the both of you. Er…did I say something wrong?" he inquired of Meryl's headsmack.
"Oh, no, sir, no," she assured him hastily. "I've just been hearing that a lot lately. Actually, can I ask a question?"
"Of course. It's your party, you can ask if you want to."
"Do you know who the man was who chased us here?"
Now the Chief beamed with pride. "My nephew. He's a great admirer of yours, Ms. Stryfe – training to be a field agent as yourself, and you may not have known, but you've become something of a legend in the company. 'The Woman Who Tamed Vash the Stampede.'"
"Chief! I wouldn't say –"
"I've heard and just now seen how casual you are with him, Ms. Stryfe. It looks like you've tamed him to me. The kind of backbone it would take just to approach the most dangerous man alive –" He didn't know it, but he was speaking of the same man who had insisted on making her soup every day the last time she had a cold, and told Milly the worst knock-knock jokes ever to cheer her up when she was down. "– let alone deal with him on a regular basis, made him more than happy to play his role in this; and just so we're clear that you were in no danger, he was firing blanks."
His face took on a sterner look now. "I should mention, however, I'm not completely unaware that you've been working a second job."
Uh-oh! "It's not like that, Chief, you see –"
"Neither you nor Ms. Thompson are in trouble. I'm aware company stipends are not the most generous. However, a long-term remote assignment such as yours has never arisen before. I intend to make this my basis for trying to persuade Mr. Bernardelli to issue an exception for you and Ms. Thompson, to increase your stipends to the same allotted to permanent assignments. And in light of the unique nature of your assignment, I see no reason to mention any outside activities you may find it necessary to engage in."
She was off the hook! Meryl was too happy to be surprised at herself for giving the Chief a spontaneous hug. "Thank you, sir!"
Her boss smiled like a father proud of his daughter. "Just don't let it get out. The whip in my office is meant to encourage a certain image, after all. Now go on and mingle, I'm sure everyone wants to get reacquainted."
"Yes, sir."
When the Chief had said Milly invited everyone Meryl had ever known in the company, she'd thought he was exaggerating, but clearly not. It seemed everyone she could remember was waiting to chat and find out how life was going for her. Her friend Karen was the boldest, asking what everyone was too polite to ask, what life with a notorious outlaw was like. "You know the law doesn't have a reward for him in December, Meryl, not with the strings you convinced Old Man Bernardelli to pull. So spill, let's have all the details!"
Somehow, Meryl managed to dance around all the inconvenient questions. Even with all the fancy footwork she had to do, it was still great to see all her old friends.
She noticed Milly had even brought Knives. Vash's brother was in a wheelchair over in a secluded corner, a blanket over him that she assumed was hiding restraints. As she drifted over, she could hear Vash offering him a pink cupcake.
"I'll tell you what you can do with that sugar-packed empty-caloried poison, you insipid –"
"Mr. Kni-ives," Milly sang cheerily. She poked him lightly with her stun gun, the barrel of which was next to his head, her finger gently stroking the trigger. "Please behave."
"I mean, no thank you," Knives grunted with a scowl.
"I got him," Vash said with a grin. "You two go hang out."
They left Vash with the stun gun. Meryl and her friend drifted away to get some of Karen's infamous birthday punch, the alcohol content of which really put the emphasis on "punch".
"Thanks," Meryl said to Milly as she filled her cup.
"For what?"
"I'm sure it was Vash's idea, but thanks for putting this party together. Thanks for being so willing to help Vash with Knives. Just thanks for being so Milly, Milly."
"And thanks for being so Meryl, Meryl." Milly grinned and raised her cup. "You and Mr. Vash make life interesting."
Later, after more conversation and birthday wishes and presents, Meryl looked upon her friends with satisfaction and leaned against her Vash with a smile.
What were they really to each other? Who was she becoming in her life with him?
Time would answer these questions. For now, she was content in the gentle kiss Vash gave her after he said, "Happy birthday."