Meryl Stryfe worked very hard to secure a job in Bernardelli Insurance. She had since she was a child. Not Bernardelli specifically, but she'd always wanted a good education and a well-paid future. Her parents went through hell and back to get her through the proper schooling. When she graduated college, she received numerous offers from property insurance companies seeking her employment, as that was what she'd studied so meticulously for.

She was lucky enough to be contacted by Bernardelli, the biggest name and of course her choice was a no-brainer. She was talented in her field and Millicent Thompson was no one to sniff at, either; she may have been born a farm girl but she went through the same strenuous learning process Meryl did, which the shorter woman respected the taller for.

Bernardelli was mainly located in April City, one of the Seven Cities, based around a fallen SEEDS ship and far-flung in general atmosphere from the relatively moderate-sized city Meryl grew up in, called Puckett. Meryl's goodbyes to her parents and what few relatives they had were tearful but it wasn't like they wouldn't keep in contact, much less never see each other again. The tears were more of joy than anything else.

Meryl knew Millie wrote letters to her family regularly and was a little guilty whenever she thought of it—she sent reports to her superiors, but not the status of her wellbeing to her mother and father? She sighed, staring at the blank typewriter before her. She really should. Resolving to get it done sometime that night (almost a year now since she'd sent them anything, wasn't it?) she stood up.

It was morning and Millie was doing their laundry. She really didn't have to, but she insisted. Meryl was wiser than to argue. Ever since Wolfwood's death Millie had been quieter, but she was still, without a doubt, Millie Thompson. Meryl's mood saddened, not for the first time. Millie had only just begun experiencing her first real love and then he was gone, just like that. Meryl didn't know what she would have done if Vash ever died. God knew he almost had more times than she could count.

She and Millie had waited in that town square until nightfall, long after the well's fountain of water had stopped. They fell asleep on a bench, leaning against one another. Meryl remembered it distinctly: waking up due to the sensation of a gentle hand on her shoulder, looking up into haunted green eyes. Vash had done something, something which changed him inside, but she hadn't dared ask him what it was. It was his business to tell her when he was ready. All that mattered was that he was alive and…well.

They were staying in the same house where Meryl had listened to Vash scream in confusion and despair after making his first kill. The day after his return he'd been unexpectedly chatty, as if trying to drown out his own thoughts with his mouth. Somehow it led to an emotional exchange.

"Meryl, I am not human—"

"I don't care, damn it!"

That was the end of that conversation. He'd been prepared to tell her much more, she saw it in his eyes, but he was so stricken by her outburst he didn't say anything else on the subject. Part of her regretted that, another part of her never would. Yes, it had been very sudden, she'd reeled for a total of two seconds as the words left his mouth and then it all clicked. Was he afraid of not having children? That their genes were incompatible?

"Meryl," Vash's concerned voice drifted from the doorway of the bathroom, she looked at him. He was drying his blond hair, it looked ruffled and he was shirtless, all of his scars and metallic implants exposed, "Are you okay?" It had been a week since he'd run to face down his brother. It was like a weight was lifted off his shoulders, while at the same time she often caught him staring into space. Whatever happened, it affected him greatly. Nothing between she and him had been spoken aloud, not yet, but Meryl finally knew where her heart lay and was stubborn to not let it fade into regret.

"I'm fine," she answered, "Just overthinking, I suppose."

"On what?"

She swallowed, "You. Us."

His hands quit moving the towel across his scalp. There was a deep pause. A tinge of paranoia painted Meryl's mind. He inhaled through his nose, "I have been, too."

How? Meryl wanted to ask, When you've been so consumed by whatever-it-was?

She was nothing if not a person who persevered, "And?"

"This is hard, Meryl," Vash said, "I tried telling you…"

There it was, then, "I'm sorry, but I'm not sorry. I don't care what you are. You're Vash to me."

His smile was watery, "Thanks. That—that means a lot to me. It's just—it's exactly what I am that would come between us," her expression of bafflement made him wince, "I'm over a hundred years old, I told you that. I'm going to outlive you."

"What?" It dawned on her.

Every crease in his features was pained, "You'll grow old. I won't."

She had never thought of that.

"I am an independent plant," she remembered this revelation with immense clarity, "Not human. Different lifespans. I…" his throat grew choked, "I don't want to watch you die without me."

She didn't know what to say.

His face crumpled, "I love you, Meryl—but I don't want to suffer that."

"Then make the best of the time you do have together."

They both jumped at Millie, who spoke from just outside the open door of the room. She was watching Meryl and Vash intently.

"Love outlasts time," she added.

The second day after his return Vash explained to Millie a shorter version of his past than he'd informed Meryl. Millie had been just as—if not more—accepting as Meryl expected her to be.

Vash squeezed the bathroom countertop so hard his knuckles went white, "Didn't you hear me? I don't…!" His head bowed and his forehead rested against the counter, teeth grit. He stayed that way for a very long time. Then, he shut the door. Shakily, not with a slam.

Meryl slowly turned back to her typewriter. She began, Dear Mom and Dad, I've fallen in love with a man.