Disclaimer: Don't own Trigun.
A/N: Okay, I know I'm 'sposed to be working on "Doors Will Not Reopen", but I've been working on another secret project for MONTHS now. Yeah. That's how slow in story production I am. Everyone love me. Anyway, consider this a teaser trailer. Read and enjoy, people.
The sun is not even up yet.
Her eyes open blearily, her vision watery and red. No sleep last night. No surprise there. Groans and sits up, her calloused feet dangling over the side of the bed. Meryl yawns and does not bother stifling it. What happened last night?
Then she remembers, and her mind immediately goes blank as she flings the covers off and walks to the bathroom, determined to get through the day, the whole day. No thoughts during the bathroom routine: eyes vacant as she brushes her teeth, hairbrush moving mechanically over her tresses. Meryl gives herself a final once-over in front of the mirror (smooth those lips, tidy those clothes); satisfied, her feet make small pit-pat sounds on the wooden floorboards towards the kitchen.
I need coffee. First thought since approximately twenty minutes ago. She automatically reaches for the top cupboard on the right side of the sink, opens, and takes out a large jar of instant (half-empty). Hands wringing impatiently, she stares at the coffeemaker. Hurry up hurry up hurry up—
Done. Meryl sinks into the nearest chair and wraps her fingers around the mug, feeling the heat seep into her body. After a few minutes of cooling off, she sighs and drinks deeply. She sets the mug down on the table and briefly notes the soft pink that is now enveloping the sky. Will I still be here to see this? Looking down, Meryl gives in, and her face suddenly clouds over, wrought with sharp words and unspoken somethings—but it is all gone in an instant.
There is an abrupt scrape of another chair being pulled up beside her; Meryl jumps in her chair and turns around to find Vash sitting there with slumped shoulders and crooked glasses. He looks at her, and the set of her jaw tightens (red-rimmed eyes and heart thumping).
"Hey."
She gives a slight nod.
The coffee pot sits comfortably on the table, and her mug is has not yet reached the halfway mark. He eyes it for a moment.
Meryl stands up, headed for the cupboard. "Do you want a cup?"
He smiles. "Yeah, that would be nice."
She crosses the kitchen and grabs a mug off of the dish rack. The cup has a long crack that gracefully winds down to the bottom (super-glued to the point of almost indiscernible). Meryl sits back down again and pours for him, the dark liquid swirling as it rises to the rim where she stops.
"There." Hands it to him.
He accepts gratefully and blows the steam for a few seconds before taking a sip. "Yeow!" he hisses.
Her lips quirk up. "That's why you wait for it to cool."
"Next time, I'll remember," Vash replies, looking straight at her.
There is something hard in Meryl's eyes as she slowly nods and tips the rim to her mouth (savor and swish).
Back and forth, they take turns draining their coffee, each gaze darting, swiveling about the house. A set of gray eyes lightly sweeps past a lamp while an aqua pair moves restlessly over and under the door leading outside. But they never land on the other person.
After relaxing in complete silence, she gets up, mug in hand, strides to the sink, and turns on the faucet. Fills the sink up with water and dunks her mug in. Reaches for the sponge and puts soap on it. Her hands never shook (don't let him see).
"Here, let me help."
Meryl turns around, startled, and sees Vash standing beside her, his hands plunged into cold, dirty dishwater. There is a look on his face, as if he needs to wash the dishes; otherwise the world would simply fall apart. She unconsciously shakes her head. Why are you doing this to yourself?
"Alright," she says tersely.
They rinse and lather in ambiguous silence while sunlight pours through the window above them, casting their shadows on the linoleum (two long figures are merged together). His fingers are clumsy and almost slip, but Meryl is tense and ready to catch his mug. At one point a ray of sun plainly strikes his face—hair shining, glasses reflecting—and she cannot help but steal a glance, if only for a moment. He pretends not to notice.
They are on the last mug because Meryl has long finished hers when Vash's hand fumbles. Both take a millisecond to stupidly watch the mug make its descent before simultaneously reaching out for it.
"Ack, sorry—"
"No, that's—"
Their fingers roughly brush against each other, and they pause; the mug crashes (pieces everywhere).
There is nothing but a loud whine in their ears. And then…
"I'm sorry."
"It's…it's fine. It was just a mug."
A hoarse whisper. "I'm sorry, Meryl."
"No, really, it—"
"So sorry, Meryl—"
"—Stop calling me that."
"I just—"
"—Don't."
"But—"
She shoots him a look. "Just let it go." What more can you do? What else can you say?
"This wasn't what I wanted to happen." He is already struggling for words.
This small, selfish statement nearly undoes her, but she steels herself and closes her eyes, stowing tears away for another day. Meryl lets go of a breath; it surprises her that she has held it for so long.
"You knew it would," she murmurs, "we all knew."
Vash says nothing and stares at the wall, back stiff and knuckles white. Her eyes are still closed. He then holds her and lays his head on her shoulder (Oh Rem, Rem); She bites her lip and feels a knife twist into her stomach. Her forehead is a mass of worry/anger lines.
As quickly as he encircled her, he lets go. "I'm going now," he says tightly. The faint scent of black ink lingers on his coat.
She wordlessly gestures to the door. His throat rigid and itchy, he is at the doorway in no time and looks back once more. Receiving his message, she can only shake her head. Too late for that. Accepting the inevitable, he slips out.
The clock drags time, and she closes the door with a soft click. Her fist slams against the wood with a dull thud.
"Fuck, Vash," Meryl snaps, voice breaking and eyes suspiciously glittering.
Hey man, I need reviews.