*~*~Chapter 4~*~*
Meryl waved good-bye from her wheelchair to Millie and Wolfwood as they set off for the bus that would take them to the Sandsteamer. She stared at the retreating priest, thinking about those first few chaotic days when Vash had returned with his unconscious bother slung over his shoulder. Only days after his return, an even more unexpected guest arrived… the supposed dead Nicholas D. Wolfwood. Millie had nearly gone into hysterics, believing she was seeing a ghost. Vash had slapped him, and then hugged him, sobbing in disbelief. Even Meryl had, after overcoming her shock, run forward in a welcome hug. Knives had awakened soon after, suffering from amnesia, but still bitter about events he could no longer remember. Only a month ago, Knives had left to become a plant technician. He had been quiet, angry, and reserved, but he was no longer hateful of the human race.
"I hope they'll be okay," Vash said, shattering Meryl's deep thoughts.
"I'm sure they'll be fine," she said as she wheeled back into the house. Wolfwood had been happy to accompany Millie. It was pretty plain to everyone how they felt about each other. Meryl smiled slightly to herself. She could remember thinking, Oh God, please don't leave me alone with Vash. Anything but that. She looked behind her at Vash, who was still waving at figures long since gone. His red coat wasn't the same one he had worn when he left to find Knives. He had never said what happened to it. This one wasn't as tailored, wasn't quite as long, wasn't as bright a red. She watched him lower his hand and shove it into his oversized pocket, still staring at the horizon. Anything but that.
It was inconceivable. Completely mystifying. He had been staring at the page for half an hour. Vash sighed and let his head drop to the counter, making a soft thunk as it hit. How anyone was supposed understand this… He just couldn't figure it out. He turned his head and stared sideways at the ingredients lain out on the counter. Two eggs. Three-quarters of a cup of milk. Three and one third of a cup of flour. One cup of sugar. Salt. Baking powder. Cinnamon. Nutmeg. Shortening. His head began to spin. It had taken him so long to find all these things…
He looked at the book again, his nose almost touching the paper. He squinted, trying to read the finely scripted letters. His eyes followed the tiny print carefully.
"Deep-fat fryer…" he muttered. What the hell was that? He had no idea.
Who knew it was this hard to make donuts?
He put a hand to his forehead. His nerves were beginning to fray. He wasn't meant to sit still this long. He tapped his finger on the counter impatiently and tried to read the recipe again. His ears were beginning to ring. He covered them, and the noise stopped. Content that the ringing had stopped; he placed his hands back on the counter. The ringing was louder than ever.
He looked toward the door, vaguely wondering what was making that noise. He saw Meryl speed past the doorway in her wheelchair, her hands above her head and her eyes as wide as saucers.
He mumbled to himself in a detached voice. "Mmm. Look at her go. I didn't think wheelchairs could go that fast… She-…mer- MERYL!"
He snapped out of his mental haze and started to run towards the door. One of his feet flew awkwardly out behind him, and he soon found himself kissing the floor. He blinked and scrambled to his feet, barely aware of the blood trickling from his nose.
"IIEEE! SOMEBODY STOP THIS THING!" Meryl howled as she shot out the front door and sailed over the porch steps. "Oh…" She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth as the wheelchair hit the ground. The wheels sunk into the sand and the chair lurched forward, throwing her onto the ground. She turned her head and spit the sand out of her mouth.
"MERYL! Geez… Meryl, are you okay?!" Vash ran across the porch, jumped the steps and ran toward the wheelchair. His foot sunk into the soft sand and he flew forward. Meryl covered her head with her arms as he flipped straight over her. She looked up cautiously and saw him land on his back a few feet away, kicking up a cloud of sand and dust. The cloud settled and she saw him looking at her upside-down, blood running from his nose and hair mussed and dirty.
"You ok?" he asked in a strained voice.
"Yeah."
"Good, because I don't think I can get up." He made a face.
Meryl made a similar one, and rested her head back on the sand.