This chapter was probably the hardest one for me to write, because I'm not
as familiar with Millie/Wolfwood's mannerisms. Hopefully, though, I did all
right. Let me know how you think I did! No flames, though, please! I have
such fragile self-esteem. Constructive criticism is always welcome, though.
It's kind of short, I know. The next one will be longer. Darn these 10 hour shifts at work!
Also, one more A/N: I know that some of my formatting is crappy. It's what happens when I transfer from word to FF.net. It eats my ellipses. Also, it won't read italics or bold or anything, so I have to use CAPS for emphasis. Sorry about that
For seemingly the thousandth time, Millie swiped at the grime on the window, trying to clean a bit of it off. Not that it mattered how clean the view was. Outside the window was nothing but desert, stretching on for miles before running into a jagged stretch of hills. Still, it was an improvement over her indoor surroundings. She refused to make contact with the man that sat ever silent in the corner, his head bowed.
"I wonder where Meryl is," She idly said aloud. She hoped that Meryl was as far away from here as possible. Legato had evil plans for both her and Vash.
Vash. Vash had shot Wolfwood. Not that Millie was angry. He had done what he had to do to save Meryl, who had passed out shortly there after. Millie was happy that Vash had come to rescue Meryl. She had always known that the two liked each other. They were just both too stubborn to admit it.
"At least one of us will be happy," she said to herself, her gaze sliding to the idle figure still reclining in the corner, a loaded pistol at his hip. She sighed.
"Millie" Vash had said, "Let's go"
She had refused. She wouldn't leave him. Vash had been surprised at her refusal.
"Millie, you can't stay here, they'll ki—"
"I can't go, Vash. You know I can't. Would you leave Meryl?"
His gaze had slid to the unconscious body now held in Millie's lap. Blood was beginning to seep into her skirt. Tears were in her eyes. Silently, Vash had nodded.
"Get Meryl out of here, Vash," Millie smiled, "and please take care of her."
Vash had done just that. He had gently picked Meryl's body up into his arms, and carried her from the house, but not before telling Millie that they would be back; for both of them.
Millie had wondered why Legato had never shown himself during the whole thing. As soon as Vash and Meryl were gone he had come and taken away Wolfwood's body. Millie had been worried, but the next day Wolfwood had come back, good as new so to speak.
"I guess he let them go because he knew they'd come back," Millie said, still talking aloud to herself, "But I sure hope they don't. I don't want Meryl or Mr. Vash to have to get into anymore trouble."
The days had melded together after Vash had left. It became a dull routine. Wake up, eat, stare out the window, talk to Wolfwood (a one-sided conversation), and sleep.
The food was the highlight of her day. Legato seemed to be a sucker for sweets, and he spared his prisoner some of his goodies. Everyday, Millie would hope it was pudding, but banana sundaes and cheesecake were just as good.
Taking a piece of chocolate brown hair between her fingers, she held it up to eye level to inspect it. Same old Millie hair, but…
"You know, I really wish they would let me take a shower or something. I'm starting to feel really dirty."
"Dirty? You? Never."
Millie's head jerked up, her attention instantly taken from the issue of her grungy hair. She turned to stare at the figure standing in the corner.
Wolfwood's head was down. He seemed to be studying the carpet, nothing new about his mannerisms. But his voice; his voice had that same tone that it used to. Millie could feel her heart thumping against her rib cage. Could it be?
Silence reigned in the room for several minutes. Her hope dripped away like a lighted candle as the seconds ticked away, until nothing but the wick remained. She must have been imagining things.
After so long, she couldn't take the silence. Millie never had been good with quiet situations. She preferred to smooth over the uneasiness with a long string of what she deemed 'interesting' conversation.
"I really wish I knew how my family was doing. Their letters stopped coming a couple of months after I stopped writing. I guess they think I've forgotten them. But I haven't; I couldn't, really."
She paused.
"I think I got used to writing, though. After I stopped writing to my family I started writing a journal. I always…"
She paused again. Although she didn't know why, she was nervous.
"…I always addressed my journal entries to you. I guess…I guess I had thought that maybe you would want to read them. That maybe you'd want to know what was going on."
Unbidden, tears came to her eyes. She was getting emotional again. She had been very emotional while she was pregnant. Meryl had put up with it with a patience that had shocked Millie. There hadn't been a single argument. And then Millie had the miscarriage.
"I think life likes to play tricks on me. It lets me get attached to something, and then it takes it away. It's not very fair…"
Leaning forward, she let her forehead rest against the window. Millie had finally met her match. She just couldn't find any way to continue to be cheerful in this situation. Instead of smiling big and letting the world pass by on parade, she found herself in the middle of a rainstorm, with no clear outlook on when it was going to end; or even, if it was going to end.
"I feel tired. I think I'll take a nap"
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
Wolfwood watched silently as the girl curled up on her bed. She was crying again. The shaking of her shoulders made it obvious.
He studied her. This girl was unbelievably strange. Always chattering away to fill the silence that seemed to bother her so.
Not that it seemed to do her any good. Pretty soon the cheerful façade faded away, and she'd be crying again. Always wailing away like a wounded dog.
What bothered Wolfwood was that it bothered him. It didn't bother him in the sense that it annoyed him. He couldn't put his finger on what it was, really. Just a strange tug in his chest anytime the sloppily hidden tears began to fall.
He didn't understand it. He was simply commanded to watch this girl. So why did he care whether she sobbed her heart out on a daily basis or not? But strangely enough, he did.
Wolfwood waited carefully, measuring the time between sobs. She was getting exhausted, as she always did. She couldn't keep up the heart- wrenching sobs for too long. He listened carefully, measuring the time between sobs as it grew longer and longer. It wasn't long before she was asleep.
Still Wolfwood waited. He wasn't taking any chances. Especially considering what he was doing was extremely dangerous.
When he was sure-VERY sure- that she was asleep, he left his position on the wall. He was almost surprised there wasn't a burnt-in imprint of himself, seeing as he stood there so long, and so often. His brown leather loafers made no sound as he moved across the floor to the curled up, sleeping form across the room.
It seemed like an eternity before he was standing over her like some angel of death, his shadow sprawled across her tortured form. Even in sleep, her face wore the lines of someone who had seen enough blood to last a lifetime. It seemed so unlike her.
Wait. What was he saying? He didn't even know this girl. How would he know what she was like?
"Being locked up in this room is making me crazy," He mumbled to himself, his voice loud in the otherwise silent room.
Still…
There was a nag inside of him. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on that told him this was not the Millie that the world saw on a daily basis.
Then again, she seemed to know him. Or at least she acted like she did. She spoke of naming a baby Nicholas. Or, rather, she said that she would have named it Nicholas. Was it her baby? Something inside him twitched at the thought: if it was, why was it only a 'would have' and not a 'did'?
"I don't like this whole damn situation," He growled to himself. He had the sudden urge for a cigarette.
He was about to walk away when another inward twitch forced him to stop. Millie let out a soft sigh. It was an innocent noise, but there was pain in it. Pain that Nicholas almost felt responsible for…
Seemingly of its own accord, Wolfwood's hand reached out to touch a single strand of beautiful brown hair. His thumb smoothed over it, his senses reacting to its softness. He repeated the motion a few more times, before letting it drop back into the mess that was now sprawled out on her pillow.
Wolfwood stared. He had seen that image before: but where?
Brown hair shimmering in the moonlight…soft words of love whispered in the darkness…
He stumbled back as if a hammer had struck him square in the chest. His breathing deepened. What was happening? Something was coming back. It was suddenly like another person was living inside of him. When had this happened?
Blood. Blood everywhere. And screams. Somebody was screaming. Who? The sound hurt him. Took his heart and stomped on it. Why? His vision was fading. Darkness was everywhere. He was falling. Falling into oblivion.
Wolfwood braced himself against a wall. His eyes were wide, wild like an animal. His gaze was intent on Millie, as if her sleeping form were the cause of his sudden madness.
More blood. Not as much, but just as painful. It wasn't his pain though. The screaming was still there, though. It was the same voice. Millie? A hospital. It was so white. White, interrupted by stained sheets. Sheets stained by a dangerous red. And Millie was screaming; screaming, and crying. Her gaze was upward, her eyes wide, her mouth open in a wail; a death cry. She was clutching someone; someone in a white coat. Someone who told her "I'm sorry. It's gone. There's nothing we can do now". Gone? That can't be. It wasn't supposed to be like this.
"No!" Millie was screaming, "No! Please no! Don't take my baby from me too!"
"Millie, honey, I'm so sorry. I didn't want you to be alone…"
Tearing at his own head, Wolfwood let out a cry that tore Millie from her slumber and caused her to bolt upright in bed. The scene before her startled her, rendering her unable to move, only to stare as Wolfwood sank to the floor, screaming, grabbing at his head as if something had crawled inside and was feasting.
And that was exactly how Wolfwood felt. There was an invisible war being fought internally. One side was clashing with the other, clawing for control.
Millie moved, acting on impulse. She bolted from her bed, knelt before him.
"Wolfwood!" She shook his shoulders gently, worry painfully evident on her face.
Her face: her beautiful, angelic face. The lighter side inside him fought forward. It started to win. But it hurt. There was so much pain.
"Millie," he gurgled.
"I'm here! Darling, I'm here!" Millie was so worried she didn't even notice her slip. She was frightened. What was happening?
Wolfwood smiled. It turned Millie inside out, brought the millionth set of tears to waver her vision. It was HIS smile. That warm, loving smile that had the power to make Millie's insides turn to mush.
Then it was gone, as Wolfwood's entire face went black. His eyes rolled back into his head as his body slumped forward, into Millie's waiting arms.
It's kind of short, I know. The next one will be longer. Darn these 10 hour shifts at work!
Also, one more A/N: I know that some of my formatting is crappy. It's what happens when I transfer from word to FF.net. It eats my ellipses. Also, it won't read italics or bold or anything, so I have to use CAPS for emphasis. Sorry about that
For seemingly the thousandth time, Millie swiped at the grime on the window, trying to clean a bit of it off. Not that it mattered how clean the view was. Outside the window was nothing but desert, stretching on for miles before running into a jagged stretch of hills. Still, it was an improvement over her indoor surroundings. She refused to make contact with the man that sat ever silent in the corner, his head bowed.
"I wonder where Meryl is," She idly said aloud. She hoped that Meryl was as far away from here as possible. Legato had evil plans for both her and Vash.
Vash. Vash had shot Wolfwood. Not that Millie was angry. He had done what he had to do to save Meryl, who had passed out shortly there after. Millie was happy that Vash had come to rescue Meryl. She had always known that the two liked each other. They were just both too stubborn to admit it.
"At least one of us will be happy," she said to herself, her gaze sliding to the idle figure still reclining in the corner, a loaded pistol at his hip. She sighed.
"Millie" Vash had said, "Let's go"
She had refused. She wouldn't leave him. Vash had been surprised at her refusal.
"Millie, you can't stay here, they'll ki—"
"I can't go, Vash. You know I can't. Would you leave Meryl?"
His gaze had slid to the unconscious body now held in Millie's lap. Blood was beginning to seep into her skirt. Tears were in her eyes. Silently, Vash had nodded.
"Get Meryl out of here, Vash," Millie smiled, "and please take care of her."
Vash had done just that. He had gently picked Meryl's body up into his arms, and carried her from the house, but not before telling Millie that they would be back; for both of them.
Millie had wondered why Legato had never shown himself during the whole thing. As soon as Vash and Meryl were gone he had come and taken away Wolfwood's body. Millie had been worried, but the next day Wolfwood had come back, good as new so to speak.
"I guess he let them go because he knew they'd come back," Millie said, still talking aloud to herself, "But I sure hope they don't. I don't want Meryl or Mr. Vash to have to get into anymore trouble."
The days had melded together after Vash had left. It became a dull routine. Wake up, eat, stare out the window, talk to Wolfwood (a one-sided conversation), and sleep.
The food was the highlight of her day. Legato seemed to be a sucker for sweets, and he spared his prisoner some of his goodies. Everyday, Millie would hope it was pudding, but banana sundaes and cheesecake were just as good.
Taking a piece of chocolate brown hair between her fingers, she held it up to eye level to inspect it. Same old Millie hair, but…
"You know, I really wish they would let me take a shower or something. I'm starting to feel really dirty."
"Dirty? You? Never."
Millie's head jerked up, her attention instantly taken from the issue of her grungy hair. She turned to stare at the figure standing in the corner.
Wolfwood's head was down. He seemed to be studying the carpet, nothing new about his mannerisms. But his voice; his voice had that same tone that it used to. Millie could feel her heart thumping against her rib cage. Could it be?
Silence reigned in the room for several minutes. Her hope dripped away like a lighted candle as the seconds ticked away, until nothing but the wick remained. She must have been imagining things.
After so long, she couldn't take the silence. Millie never had been good with quiet situations. She preferred to smooth over the uneasiness with a long string of what she deemed 'interesting' conversation.
"I really wish I knew how my family was doing. Their letters stopped coming a couple of months after I stopped writing. I guess they think I've forgotten them. But I haven't; I couldn't, really."
She paused.
"I think I got used to writing, though. After I stopped writing to my family I started writing a journal. I always…"
She paused again. Although she didn't know why, she was nervous.
"…I always addressed my journal entries to you. I guess…I guess I had thought that maybe you would want to read them. That maybe you'd want to know what was going on."
Unbidden, tears came to her eyes. She was getting emotional again. She had been very emotional while she was pregnant. Meryl had put up with it with a patience that had shocked Millie. There hadn't been a single argument. And then Millie had the miscarriage.
"I think life likes to play tricks on me. It lets me get attached to something, and then it takes it away. It's not very fair…"
Leaning forward, she let her forehead rest against the window. Millie had finally met her match. She just couldn't find any way to continue to be cheerful in this situation. Instead of smiling big and letting the world pass by on parade, she found herself in the middle of a rainstorm, with no clear outlook on when it was going to end; or even, if it was going to end.
"I feel tired. I think I'll take a nap"
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
Wolfwood watched silently as the girl curled up on her bed. She was crying again. The shaking of her shoulders made it obvious.
He studied her. This girl was unbelievably strange. Always chattering away to fill the silence that seemed to bother her so.
Not that it seemed to do her any good. Pretty soon the cheerful façade faded away, and she'd be crying again. Always wailing away like a wounded dog.
What bothered Wolfwood was that it bothered him. It didn't bother him in the sense that it annoyed him. He couldn't put his finger on what it was, really. Just a strange tug in his chest anytime the sloppily hidden tears began to fall.
He didn't understand it. He was simply commanded to watch this girl. So why did he care whether she sobbed her heart out on a daily basis or not? But strangely enough, he did.
Wolfwood waited carefully, measuring the time between sobs. She was getting exhausted, as she always did. She couldn't keep up the heart- wrenching sobs for too long. He listened carefully, measuring the time between sobs as it grew longer and longer. It wasn't long before she was asleep.
Still Wolfwood waited. He wasn't taking any chances. Especially considering what he was doing was extremely dangerous.
When he was sure-VERY sure- that she was asleep, he left his position on the wall. He was almost surprised there wasn't a burnt-in imprint of himself, seeing as he stood there so long, and so often. His brown leather loafers made no sound as he moved across the floor to the curled up, sleeping form across the room.
It seemed like an eternity before he was standing over her like some angel of death, his shadow sprawled across her tortured form. Even in sleep, her face wore the lines of someone who had seen enough blood to last a lifetime. It seemed so unlike her.
Wait. What was he saying? He didn't even know this girl. How would he know what she was like?
"Being locked up in this room is making me crazy," He mumbled to himself, his voice loud in the otherwise silent room.
Still…
There was a nag inside of him. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on that told him this was not the Millie that the world saw on a daily basis.
Then again, she seemed to know him. Or at least she acted like she did. She spoke of naming a baby Nicholas. Or, rather, she said that she would have named it Nicholas. Was it her baby? Something inside him twitched at the thought: if it was, why was it only a 'would have' and not a 'did'?
"I don't like this whole damn situation," He growled to himself. He had the sudden urge for a cigarette.
He was about to walk away when another inward twitch forced him to stop. Millie let out a soft sigh. It was an innocent noise, but there was pain in it. Pain that Nicholas almost felt responsible for…
Seemingly of its own accord, Wolfwood's hand reached out to touch a single strand of beautiful brown hair. His thumb smoothed over it, his senses reacting to its softness. He repeated the motion a few more times, before letting it drop back into the mess that was now sprawled out on her pillow.
Wolfwood stared. He had seen that image before: but where?
Brown hair shimmering in the moonlight…soft words of love whispered in the darkness…
He stumbled back as if a hammer had struck him square in the chest. His breathing deepened. What was happening? Something was coming back. It was suddenly like another person was living inside of him. When had this happened?
Blood. Blood everywhere. And screams. Somebody was screaming. Who? The sound hurt him. Took his heart and stomped on it. Why? His vision was fading. Darkness was everywhere. He was falling. Falling into oblivion.
Wolfwood braced himself against a wall. His eyes were wide, wild like an animal. His gaze was intent on Millie, as if her sleeping form were the cause of his sudden madness.
More blood. Not as much, but just as painful. It wasn't his pain though. The screaming was still there, though. It was the same voice. Millie? A hospital. It was so white. White, interrupted by stained sheets. Sheets stained by a dangerous red. And Millie was screaming; screaming, and crying. Her gaze was upward, her eyes wide, her mouth open in a wail; a death cry. She was clutching someone; someone in a white coat. Someone who told her "I'm sorry. It's gone. There's nothing we can do now". Gone? That can't be. It wasn't supposed to be like this.
"No!" Millie was screaming, "No! Please no! Don't take my baby from me too!"
"Millie, honey, I'm so sorry. I didn't want you to be alone…"
Tearing at his own head, Wolfwood let out a cry that tore Millie from her slumber and caused her to bolt upright in bed. The scene before her startled her, rendering her unable to move, only to stare as Wolfwood sank to the floor, screaming, grabbing at his head as if something had crawled inside and was feasting.
And that was exactly how Wolfwood felt. There was an invisible war being fought internally. One side was clashing with the other, clawing for control.
Millie moved, acting on impulse. She bolted from her bed, knelt before him.
"Wolfwood!" She shook his shoulders gently, worry painfully evident on her face.
Her face: her beautiful, angelic face. The lighter side inside him fought forward. It started to win. But it hurt. There was so much pain.
"Millie," he gurgled.
"I'm here! Darling, I'm here!" Millie was so worried she didn't even notice her slip. She was frightened. What was happening?
Wolfwood smiled. It turned Millie inside out, brought the millionth set of tears to waver her vision. It was HIS smile. That warm, loving smile that had the power to make Millie's insides turn to mush.
Then it was gone, as Wolfwood's entire face went black. His eyes rolled back into his head as his body slumped forward, into Millie's waiting arms.