Disclaimer: I do not own Trigun or any of it's wonderful ideas. I just like writing shoulda coulda woulda fanfics!

Dance of The Butterfly

Chapter 1: A Voice Finally Heard

The sunlight peeked teasingly into a young woman's bedroom; she met it's gaze with an abrupt move to sit up, a coercing rubbing of the eyes, and a yawn met by a brief stretch. She then climbed out of bed to attain her daily duties. Yet how she loathed them. That woman was Meryl Stryfe, who knew this lifestyle all too well. She grimaced at her appearance in the mirror; tousled, black, modest hair sat uninvitingly on top of her head, the result of maybe three hours of desperate sleep. This was how it had been the past six months.

Why was it so hard to sleep you ask? Well when you are caring for a mass murderer you kind of worry for your life at any given time. Meryl was used to being in intense situations in which she had to think fast, but this was different. This was pure TORTURE. In regards to those times when she made it out due to her problem-solving skills, this was a far cry; sitting almost expectantly like it was the eve of her demise. It was like playing the waiting game of doom.

It was great to have Vash back in her life, she agreed, but the heavy baggage named Millions Knives he brought along with him made her dread the coming months, years, perhaps decades. He was a complete sourpuss; hardly ever spoke but to barely nod a 'yes' and to mumble out a fierce and defiant 'no'. Tending to him was now her full-time occupation because Vash thought it was the kind of thing she knew best since the only real jobs in the village were construction and irrigation jobs, and Meryl was far too petite to carry the load that came along with them. Even though sometimes Knives would harshly reject being bound and bandaged by the human Meryl, she'd stagger on anyway. (Just the beginning of the downsides of caring for an injured psycho.)

What happened to her steady job at the office? Well, we'll get to that…

'My god, another day of pure HELL! It's times like these I really miss the office, but this is the life I chose.' Meryl slipped into her usual garb; a snug-fitting pale skirt with navy panty hose, and a matching top with golden detail. She had put into retirement the long, flowing cape she would wear on the job concealing hundreds of compact derringers. In fact, today she was to write a letter to the Bernardelli Insurance Society of what precautions she was taking in order to make it look like Vash had been doing some real damage. It was an easy thing to do compared to everything else in her life at present.

She pressed on throughout the little, tiny shack that Vash, herself, Millie, and the ungrateful Knives called 'home'. Each day seemed to repeat. It was prosaic, boring, and somewhat aggravating. She wished Vash would've stayed around since troubles were quite small, but he felt he had to pull his own weight, and got a job alongside Millie.

'Yay. Time to do the deed.' She frowned with passion as she silently gripped the clunky, brass doorknob leading into the room that the abomination occupied. 'Keep thoughts to self, Meryl.' She warned herself genuinely, Knives was one to dig deep into your unconscious.

'No eye contact…. No eye contact. Ugh, guess I'll just smile like I should…' She meandered, a moment later collecting her thoughts and packing them away like a skeleton in the closet of her weary brain.

"I see you're awake early for once." She mumbled, standing at the foot of his bed, yet staring idly at the cold, stone floor.

As expected, he nodded in response, it was something all-too familiar. His cold glances were fixated on the tiny woman, as he found other focal points in the room entirely uninteresting. She could feel the hatred penetrating her to the soul, but she soldiered on.

"Are you interested in some breakfast?" She asked innocently enough, clasping her hands together and settling them on her right thigh.

He met her with an eerie silence, nothing new. His gaze upon her weakened and he fixated on the mundane, blank walls of his bedroom. He wasn't going to answer, she supposed. It was times like these when she wanted to grab him by the collar and give him a piece of her mind, but she knew after an offense like that she was surely done for.

'Alright, now he's really starting to piss me off. No stupid head nod or whatever the hell he does…'

She furrowed her brows in frustration and lost her fear in what seemed like a millisecond. The next thing she knew she was sitting in the chair next to his bed staring at him, trying to hide her anger. He, in a state of crossed arms and other mannerisms that accompanied conceit, just smirked.

"Are you going to answer me any time today?" Meryl clenched her fists, but hid it by tucking them behind her back.

He craned his neck robotically in her direction, a blank expression on his face; she noticed his upper lip start to curve, what seemed like his patience uncoiling, his monotonous line of a mouth undergoing a transformation of sarcastic mentality. Once a flat, unemotional visage crumbling to an insane sneer; and before Meryl knew it, he was enveloped in an avalanche of laughter.

He thought her a fool.

Meryl, beyond angry, couldn't bare to look away like a cowering child. Instead she glared into the crystal clear pools of the being that she detested so thoroughly.

"What the hell are you laughing at!?" She belted uproariously. Her reaction only resulted in adding more fuel to the fire; Knives found her response quite comical.

She leaped up from the chair and stood by the doorway. "You can walk can't ya?" She bent herself over so as to pester the leery man.

She thought he would never speak more than the 'no's she had heard him so often utter. She thought he would never voice his intentions past a mumbling indifference.

She was wrong. Very wrong. It was at this moment in time that he first opened his mouth to speak to a woman he at first thought was not worth the voice.

"Are you some kind of imbecile?!" He retorted, his laughter only subsiding slightly.

"Shoo, shoo, get me that breakfast of which you speak so fondly of." He spoke confidently with a gently, mocking wave of the hand. Meryl was utterly peeved. She was, no doubt, inflamed.

Meryl slammed the door upon exiting and stomped into the kitchen.

She felt a tad bit of dizziness coming on, and found she couldn't think straight…

'''Ooooh, so that's what you think of me, huh?" He intruded her most private depths of insight.

'HOW DARE HE!' she thought, struggling to hold herself back. She was sick of playing nice for someone who wouldn't even appreciate it if hell froze over!

His insane laughter clouded her head, causing her to clutch her skull between her palms in attempt to gain control.

Before she knew it, he was gone and out of her thoughts.

She watched the batter in the frying pan turn slowly to a flat, solid yet flexible pancake. How ironic that she couldn't escape him for a moment; she fed him, bathed him, clothed him, and none of it was to her benefit. She stared feverishly as she cooked a meal for someone she hated with all she had.

As she uplifted the last pancake and settled it into it's new habitat, a plate, she tensed almost instantly. The feeling of eyes to her back was domineering and obvious. She had a knack for sensing these kinds of things.

Her accusations were right, as she went to turn around, but only found the haunting whisper of a masochist applied uncomfortably to her neck, rustling her neck hairs like that of the effect a spring breeze had on a wheat field.

"Filthy spider."

She froze in contempt, the plate of pancakes in her hands floated staunchly in the air until it hit the floor and shattered.

Meryl mechanically retrieved the broom and dustpan, sweeping in the remnants of her delicately made pancakes. Time to start anew, she thought. Broken glass and scattered pancake weren't fit for Knives' royal tastes.

It was hard to see reality, in Meryl's eyes; she lost emotion as she nonchalantly went about cooking fresh pancakes from scratch…

She turned around to find him slung over a chair at the kitchen table. He then smugly snapped his fingers as if he were some sort of king and she, his servant.

Patience wore thin as she set him up for his ideal breakfast, she even had ready a fork and a napkin which she settled onto his lap routinely.

And so this was how it was…

Meryl despised being this man's 'worker bee'.