The same infinite blackness, a blank page on which the universe was written. A little boy hung over an imaginary ledge, his body supported on nothing, his head hanging upside down over the edge of whatever drop he had fathomed. Dirty blonde hair pointed itself toward a nonexistent ground. He smiled and giggled.

"So what are we going to do this time?" The same boy... yet not the same. They seemed perfectly identical, even to visible age, but this one held himself in a more calm manner. He seemed cold to the touch, bitter towards existence for some great, mystical injustice. He paced towards his younger, or perhaps not, doppelganger with folded arms and leaned against the imaginary precipice, the little boy's head looking past him, trying to focus on something not there. The older boy lowered his head, chin almost to his chest, and replied.

"Well, what do you want the subject of tonight's show to be?" The younger boy giggled. "Let's use Cowboy Bebop!" "I think that Inuyasha would be best."

"What about our original story?"

"We must rework that. It's too much for tonight."

The younger boy rolled onto his stomach, the precipice suddenly extending out far enough for him to prop his head on his elbow. "Well, then what?" "Perhaps we should sleep again."

"Quiet, both of you!" Yet a third apparition of the boy, identical to the first two, yet this one held his head high, looking out with dark eyes, watching both his copies. They both turned their heads to look at him. He had appeared to their left, his feet firmly planted on an imaginary ceiling. He walked to a point directly over the first two. The depressed one put his chin back to his chest. The little boy rolled onto his back and looked at the tall apparition. "Well," Number Two began, "If you can think of an idea, please tell us, Zero." "I was leaning towards Trigun myself, actually."

"I'm outvoted again." "What a shame, Face, what a shame." Face sighed and shook his head.

"Fine. Let's just get going. I think I'll go back to sleep soon..."

Disclaimer: We, the Trinity of The Mind, make absolutely no claim of ownership to anything in this fanfic. However, we are proud Texans, and wear our Texanism... "I don't think that's a word." "Can it." ...on our sleeves. We own ourselves. If you put us anywhere besides here, you will be sued. Thank you!

Romance of the Single Bullet

Bang. Meryl Strife winced. She was used to gunfire. She had been around it most of her life. But it had always been in a great multitude. A good gunslinger could kill a man with eight bullets, twelve on a bad day. But the gun she heard now had never fired more than one at a time. Vash the Stampede never needed more than one.

Texas. The promised land of the west. Whisper it in the bars and back alleys of New York. Whisper it in the brothels Pittsburgh. Whisper it to the railroad workers in Montana. Texas. A place where the land was young and free. Texas. A place where the law bordered the wild, and if you didn't like one, it was just a short walk to the other. Texas. A place where more and more would look at the New Mexican desert stretching ahead, and decide that this was a good stopping point. Not him. Who was this man she was following? A notorious outlaw. A man worth more money than a fleet of barges loaded with Chinese silk. This man she followed day and night, yet never ever spoke to. She had never seen him kill; she had never seen him smile, cry, or bleed. This was the notorious outlaw. She followed Vash the Stampede. Why did she do this? One day he had walked through her hometown, and performed a miracle. From that day on she followed him, like a Jesus Christ of the West. Meryl gathered her cloak around her, and prepared herself for the scene she would see. She finished tying her horse to the hitching post and again looked about the town they had stopped in. He had stopped in. It was just like almost every other town west of Philadelphia. Batwing doors on the shops. A tiny saloon, three bedrooms on the second floor. A blacksmith's, a cobbler's, a barber's, and a doctor's home sitting where one would expect a sheriff's office. Nothing else she hadn't seen a dozens of times before. She pattered her horse on the nose, her index finger scratching a bright white splotch between it's nostrils. It looked at her with sad brown eyes, then tossed it's head and went to work chewing on a patch of scrubgrass growing between the saloon's raised porch and the dirt beneath it. She slipped quietly through the batwing doors, surveying the scene. A nameless cowboy slumped against a far wall, his gun inches out of reach. The entire building stared at Vash the Stampede, no one capable of making eye contact behind the lenses of the glasses he wore. She had never seen him without them. They hid his eyes from the world. Why? Did they hide shame? Anger? Fear? The barrel of his gun was still smoking. He calmly holstered it and took an empty seat at the bar as if nothing had happened.

"Did you see that?" ran a hushed whisper.

"He shot Keith!"

Several people repeated this to each other. It seemed to Meryl that Keith had been the town's better gunslinger. He had apparently just met one even better. Meryl took the seat that Keith had kindly vacated and watched Vash down the line of barstools. They sat at near opposite ends, but she knew exactly where he was. In the time she had followed however, he had never, not once, acknowledged her presence. Not so much as a look or a word. What she wanted to know was why had he done it this time? A doctor ran in, wearing the black suitcoat of all western doctors, and opened his bag. She watched out of the corner of her eye, and listened quietly. "How bad is it, Doc?"

"Well, I'll be."

"What?"

"No seious bleeding, no organs hit. He's given Keith here the gunfighting equivalent of a good punch in the teeth. Come on, let's take him over..."

"Hey. Do you want..." The bartender asked her.

Mery waved him away. She had missed a snippet of the conversation. "...fine in a few hours. I don't believe it. Someone finally put the dumb thug in his place..."

Vash the Stampede rode a brown horse west. Meryl followed on her own. They had left the tiny town behind them, and now there was nothing ahead. Nothing but the desert. Tall rocks jutted across the horizon, and dust devils twirled across their path. An odd patch of grass stuck out here and there, all their horses would have to eat, out here. A lizard caught Meryl's eye as it darted beneath a rock. There were two hundred miles between Vash the Stampede and Santa Fe, the only logical place Meryl thought he would go. He trudged on, silent as always. They had ridden like this for what seemed like an eternity. From Louisiana across Texas, and now into New Mexico. What had he been after all this time? What was he doing? She couldn't even begin to guess. For all this time, she had ridden behind him, staying back, sometimes three yards, sometimes twenty. Finally, he did something that took her completely by surprise. He stopped. She stopped as well, rearing her horse. She looked at him, even more puzzled than she had been before. He turned his horse, so that she saw him in profile, and then did the strangest thing. He looked at her. She was under the gaze of the most dangerous human being west of the Mississippi. Vash the Stampede was looking directly at her. Her heart began to pound. He opened his mouth to speak, and she felt infinitely nervous at what he might say. Was he angry? Would he hurt her? Would he simply laugh at her?

"You can turn around now, if you want." He said. "I have a long road ahead of me, and I think that I'm the only person who needs to walk it. You should go home and forget you ever saw me."

He turned his horse around again and picked up the same pace he had had before.

"No." She yelled, the first word she'd ever said to him. He stopped again, but did not look at her.

"I've followed you this far. I'm not leaving you to face the desert alone."

"It's not just the desert. My path is dangerous, and you shouldn't be a part of it." "I'm used to danger. I've followed you."

She thought she sensed something, a sort of sorrow, flow from the man.

"I'm... I'm sorry..."

He began to ride away again. She kicked her horse forward and, another first, pulled up alongside him.

"I didn't mean it that way. I've been in danger my whole life and..."

His face remained emotionless, the same grim mask of determination it had always been. "Hey, are you listening to me?"

He showed absolutely no sign that he had heard her.

"Hey!"

She slapped him. His sunglasses flew off, landing in the dirt, and a red hand mark began to grow on his face. His horse stopped again. He looked at her, and she saw his eyes. Bright, blue eyes, eyes that looked at the world and... And laughed!

"I take it you're not going to leave."

"Of course not!" She yelled, still trying to be angry, although that emotion was fading fast. "Fine." He said. He rode on. 'How could a cold blooded outlaw have eyes like those?' she asked herself. She looked down at the sunglasses he had left in the sand. She dismounted from her horse and bent down to pick them up. She brushed most of the sand off them, and blew most of the rest off as well. She slipped them into her jacket pocket, remounted her horse, and rode back to Vash. She hung behind him again.

After awhile, she tentatively brought her horse up to ride beside him. Although he took no notice, she felt glad for the company.

Vash did not say anything else until they had stopped for the night. When the sun began to set, he stopped and dismounted. Meryl followed suit. He laid out his bedroll, and opened a saddlebag. He withdrew a tent and a bag of jerky. Meryl did the same with her own gear. Finally, he said, "Make sure you use your blanket. The desert gets very cold at night."

Meryl, who had only seen the Louisiana bayou and Texas prairie in her lifetime took this in as new information, took her saddle blanket and threw it in the tent with the few other things she'd taken off.

That night, shivering with his sunglasses clutched in her fist, she dreamt of her first meeting with Vash the Stampede. The dream came in fragments, as dreams often do, bits and pieces surfacing and falling under again. Millie... Wolfwood... guns... money... They came back to her for the first time in years. The dream came to her in four images, over and over.

The first image. Wolfwood and Millie, sitting on the porch of the Our Father ranch house, the baby cradled in Millie's arms. Smiling. Laughter. Wolfwood's harmonica. Sunlight playing over them all. Herself sitting in the shade of an apple tree across the road and watching the two.

The second image. Money. Guns. Greed. Wolfwood standing on the porch of the Our Father ranch house, a rifle replacing his harmonica, a scowl replacing his smile. Millie and the baby cowering inside. Eight of the most notorious outlaws east of the Mississippi standing on Wolfwood's lawn. Sunset playing over them. Herself standing in the shade of an apple tree across the road, watching them. They wanted it all, they wanted everything, and they would not compromise.

Bang. Third image. A single bullet. Vash the Stampede stood in the center of the road, the barrel of the gun smoking. His sunglasses hiding his eyes from the world. Herself, wondering what those eyes could hold. Anger? Sadness? Fear? (Laughter?)

Vash laughed. Suddenly, in her dream, Vash laughed and laughed and laughed.

Fourth image. Wolfwood standing bewildered on the porch of the Our Father ranch house. The bandits dragging away their fallen leader. Vash the Stampede walking on down the road as if nothing had ever happened. Herself seeing this man go, this man who had overcome an insurmountable obstacle with a single bullet. Herself leaving the shade of the apple tree to follow.

Vash laughed and laughed and laughed.

Meryl awoke. It was still dark. The fire crackled, burning down. She sat at it's edge, shivering. She rubbed her hands together in a vain attempt to warm them. Her teeth began to chatter. Vash coughed from inside his tent.

"Meryl." He said. She looked up at where she figured he would be inside the tent.

"Yes?" "Why did you follow me?" Meryl hadn't really thought this through herself quite yet, so she simply told him what she'd told herself. "Because you performed a miracle."

Vash was quiet for a long time.

"Did I really?"

Her answer came a good deal faster, with a small smile. "Yes, Vash, you did. You saved an innocent family from impossible odds." "Good."

"Is this what the famous outlaw Vash the Stampede does with his life? Chase down riffraff?"

"No." "Well, then, what do you do?" Vash sighed.

"If we're going to have this discussion, it needs to be face to face."

She heard movement in his tent.

"I'll come out there and."

He threw open the tent flap and caught a blast of desert night air.

"Better yet, you come in here."

"WHAT?"

"No, no! Would you rather freeze?" Meryl looked at him, then at her blue fingers, and decided Vash was the better looking of the two. She stood, dusted herself off, and ducked into his tent. He closed the flap and sat on one end of his bedroll, folding his legs and looking as serious as he could in his pajamas, and she sat on the other.

"I'm chasing someone. Someone dangerous. When I meet him, you'll be at an incredible risk." Meryl nodded.

"He's killed many people, and I have to stop him before he hurts more innocents." Meryl thought quietly about this. She felt inside her pocket and found his sunglasses. She took them out, opened them, and looked at her own reflection in the lens. Then she closed them and handed them to their rightful owner. He seemed surprised. "Thank you."

His hand brushed hers as he took them and put them in the pocket of his coat, which was folded and apparently was being used as a pillow. "No one has done me a favor for quite some time now." Meryl smiled. "So, how did it feel?"

"It felt nice." He said. He smiled at her, the beginning of a laugh forming in his throat. He looked at Meryl and then he, not really knowing why, he laughed. He laid back and laughed until tears came to his eyes. Slowly, he stopped, the mirth becoming bearable bit by bit, and he examined where he had come to rest. He was lying on his back, looking up at Meryl. His head was on her folded legs. "Thank you." He repeated, and sat up.

He turned towards her, and his hand brushed hers again. He looked at her. She looked at him. 'Could he... Could I... Am I in...' Meryl thought to herself, mostly unintelligibly. There was a moment of understanding, that final, slight nod of mutual agreement. Their heads moved closer together. She kissed Vash the Stampede. That night, Meryl did not think or speak. She felt.

Vash's hand came up and touched her cheek. His lips were so warm, so soft, not like other men, who smelled of cattle and gunsmoke, tasted of grit and steel. Vash's lips were almost like a woman's, so gentle, so caring...

That night, she lost herself in the arms of the man she loved.

They rode together, across the desert, towards Santa Fe. Days had passed. Meryl looked sidelong at Vash.

"Who are you chasing?" She asked. Every time she'd spoken to him since that night, he had always answered her, those laughing eyes mocking the world, but now, his face fell, his demeanor changed, and he looked ahead.

"Vash, answer me!" "No."

"Who?"

She thought of all the viscous outlaws of New Mexico that she'd ever heard of. None had ever done anything to make someone like Vash ride after them. So who? She grumbled and shook her head, her horse dropping a few paces back.

The next day, Meryl looked across the horizon. Through the shimmering heat, she thought she could make out a town. She shaded her eyes with one hand. Yes! It was a town! She cheered and kicked her horse into a trot. Vash did not follow. She looked back once. 'Fine. If he's not thirsty, than he can just stay back there.' Meryl kicked her horse into a gallop. The only thought on her mind was that town's well. She had to get to it, she had to! Her waterskins had been emptied last night cooking dinner, and her mouth tasted like dirt. Her throat felt as dry as the desert around her. She reared her horse at the well, taking up the center of the town square. It seemed normal enough. A crossroads at the well, building lining either side. She dropped from the horse and ran to the well. Wheeling up the bucket, she laughed as she heard water slosh inside. She grabbed the bucket and drank deeply. The water tasted sweet! So wonderful! She sent the bucket down again and took one of her waterskins in one hand, popping the cork and getting ready to refill it. As she waited for the bucket to fill again, she finally took a good look at the town around her.

Realization hit her like a lightning bolt. Something was very, very wrong. Tentatively, she shouted:

"Hello?"

No one answered. Vash finally rode into the town square. He wore his glasses, hiding his eyes from no one. Except for herself and Vash, the entire town was deserted. She looked around her, and noticed something she hadn't before. Behind her was the tallest building in the town, three stories. The third floor was windowless, most likely an attic. Across the clay that had been used to build it, a single word had been scrawled in red: KNIVES. Meryl looked at the red for a moment. She had seen that shade, many times. Blood.

Laughter filled the air. Vash's hand went for his gun. He looked about for any threat, anything. A single figure stood at the top of the building, laughing. Vash drew and levelled his gun at the man. He stopped his cackling long enough to address Vash.

"It's been a long time, hasn't it, Vash the Stampede?" Meryl backed towards Vash. He took a protective stance in front of her. He hissed under his breath.

"Legato." Legato raised his arms in a gesture of humility.

"Yes, that's me all right. Oh, by the way, I watched your, ah, woman there. I would like you to know, Master Knives is very clean about his work, but of course..." Legato extended one hand. Then, something remarkable happened. Aside from Vash's gunfighing skill, it was the single most incredible thing Meryl had ever seen in her lifetime. The winch on the well began to wind itself. Not only by itself, but at an insane pace, so that it was only a moment before the bucket came into view. Releasing whatever hold he had on the winch, Legato cast the bucket out of the well, spilling the water across the sandy street. When he spoke again, his voice suddenly rose into near hysterics, a lunatic delivering the punch line for a sick joke in front of an audience of victims to his crimes. "But he has to put them all somewhere!" His face twisted into an expression of psychotic glee, and Legato lost himself in a small world of his own that would have made David Lynch proud. Meryl looked at the water in the street. It was the same shade of red that was on the side of the building. A second comprehension struck Meryl. The town, everyone... She saw mother's watch their children laugh as they played by the well. The well that became their grave. She dropped to her knees and vomited into the sand. Vash did not move. "Legato, I'm warning you now! Give up and come with me!"

Legato dragged himself back to reality.

"Me? No, I'm afraid not, Mr. Stampede. You see, I've been instructed by Mr. Knives himself..."

Legato raised his hand again and yanked the rope and bucket clear of the well. They flew threw the air, and began to encircle Legato, like a snake and it's charmer.

"...Not to leave here until you have learned a certain lesson." The end of the rope began to tie itself into a knot. Vash's gun remained pointed at Legato, at the tiny spot on the human body where he had shot Keith, shot everyone. The knot made itself clearer. It wasn't a knot. It was a noose. Vash couldn't tell why he was doing that. He could shoot the rope off of himself even dangling through the air. Then, a tug on his coat. He looked down. Meryl struggled to her feet, wiping her mouth, a dark, defeated look in her eyes. His own eyes snapped back to Legato.

"No-"

The rope lashed out, and Vash fired. The bullet severed the roped at the middle, the back half falling limp. The front half continued, streaking towards Meryl. It snapped her up, like a hungry predator, and dragged her backwards. She gurgled his name. He fired another bullet. This one caught the knot, scattering loose fibers and causing even more of the rope drop to the dirt, only rope once more. The remainingpart of the know pinned her against a wall, pulling her up against it. Her hands gripped the noose tightly. It wasn't choking her much, at least, not yet. He raised his gun at Legato and fired, the bullet aiming for the magic, disabling point. Sparks flew from beneath Legato's clothes. The man remained standing. He was wearing a metal plate over it! "Sorry, Vash. You can't beat me that easily."

Suddenly, the rope began to constrict. Meryl's eyes bulged out and she began to claw at the rope. She opened and closed her mouth, trying to gulp air.

"Time to choose, Vash. Who lives, and who dies."

Vash shook his head.

"No one has to die."

He looked at Meryl and raised his gun. He drew a bead on the rope. There was nothing left of it, though, nothing but what was around her neck. His aim wavered. He couldn't risk it. He couldn't risk hurting her. Damn it all! He had warned her! His gun went back to Legato.

"Let her go!"

"I will."

Legato smiled.

"After you kill me."

Vash gritted his teeth.

"What, are you crazy? Are you just going to throw your life away?"

Legato's smile widened and a hint of the madess he'd shown earlier twinkled in his eye. He raised his hand higher. Meryl's eyes rolled back into her head. Her feet left the ground.

"She's only going to last a few more seconds, Vash."

The world spun in front of Meryl's eyes. Everything was red. Red. The blood. The people. Vash. Legato. Knives. She couldn't breathe! Breathe! Breathe! Alarms went off in her brain. A red haze... everything slipping away... She fought it, she clawed at her captor with all her strength, trying to break free. But still, she felt her strength giving out. She felt her arms drop to her sides. The world swam before her eyes as she slipped away...

Even then, she heard it, she heard it as clearly as if she had been standing next to him.

Bang.

She dropped to the ground. She breathed deeply once, decided it was the greatest breath she'd ever drawn, and immediately passed out.