*~*~Chapter 9~*~*
He was disoriented, his mind was hazy with a grief and pain he couldn't remember, though it still twisted his stomach into knots. He stared down at the head of messy black hair resting against his chest. He stared for several minutes before it finally registered in his brain. Is that… Meryl? He wasn't sure how he had gotten from his bed to the floor, when she had come in, or how long she had been there. Her breathing was quiet and even. She was asleep.
He thought. He thought hard. What had happened? He put a hand to his face in remembrance of the hot tears that had been streaming down his face when he had woken up. He vaguely remembered a disturbing dream, but none of the details. A red sky… Rem… Blood on his hands… A stranger with his gun. Wait… perhaps not a stranger… His heart skipped a beat as he remembered with frightening clarity the glow of orange sunglasses like the eyes of an animal gone insane, staring at him, unblinking, just before the trigger was pulled.
He took a deep, shuddering breath and leaned his head back on the side of the mattress, closing his eyes in pure exhaustion.
He contemplated carrying Meryl back to her bed, then crawling into his own, but before he could muster up the strength or initiative to move, the sandman crept into his brain and he drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Sunlight was steaming through the window when Meryl awoke. She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again. Her neck hurt, her legs were cramped, and she was sore everywhere. She sleepily to sort out where she was, lifting her head from her 'pillow.' She looked around, realizing that she was still on Vash's bedroom floor. She hadn't meant to fall asleep. Especially not here. She rubbed her eyes and sat up. Her feet were freezing, but her arms were warm. She looked up at Vash, his head resting against the bed. His eyes were closed and his expression peaceful, with only a ghost of the shadow she had seen the night before. Or was it this morning?
She yawned and slowly got to her feet, trying not to disturb him. He sighed in his sleep, but didn't awaken. She slowly made her way to the door, trying not to make any noise. The cast made that endeavor extremely difficult. She made her way down the stairs and into the kitchen. She didn't think about much as she prepared to make a pot of coffee. She didn't want to think. Vash seemed to be okay now, after whatever it was that had caused those screa-
No, she told herself firmly. Don't think about it. She performed the mindless routine that was making the morning coffee and tried very hard not to think. She knew brooding over Vash's troubles would do nothing but wear her out, so she tried to think about other things. Had it really only been two days since Millie and Wolfwood had left? It seemed as if it had been a year already.
Meryl hobbled to the calendar and picked up the red pencil that was tied to a nail in the wall. She crossed off two days. Only eight more to go. She felt a groan rise to her lips. Come on Meryl! She chided. It's only about a week, you can get through this!
She made her way back to the coffeepot, which by now was almost done. She filled two chipped mugs with the brew and turned to go upstairs.
"Milk and two sugars, please!" she could remember him saying, earning him funny looks at every restaurant or bar they chanced upon.
"He'll drink it black or get his own milk and sugar," she muttered in annoyance, and continued up the stairs.
He had seen her limp out the door, watching through a curtain of almost-closed lashes. He waited until he could hear her limping down the stairs before he took a deep breath and straightened his sore back. He stretched his arms and legs out in front of him and yawned. He raised a hand to his tangled hair. His mind was unusually sluggish and tired this morning. His thoughts wandered back to Meryl.
She was so unpredictable. When he had left to find Knives, she had watched him go. It hurt to see that pain in her eyes, and he could tell that there was something she wanted to say, but couldn't. She had been so much nicer to him in the weeks after Legato… In fact, she had only hit him on the head once.
Vash chuckled quietly at the memory. I guess I deserved it, he thought. But now… since he had come back, she seemed more like her old self, constantly getting upset at him, but she didn't even bother to smack him over the head anymore. She only sighed in exasperation and shook her head slightly. She seemed so… tired. There was definitely a little more coldness in her behavior towards him. It was probably his fault. He sighed resignedly. It was always his fault.
But last night… she had surprised the hell out of him, even if he was too out of it to notice. He still wasn't sure why she had come into his room in the first place. He was even more uncertain as to why super-efficient, conservative, ever-practical Meryl had fallen asleep in his arms. That wasn't like her. Or was it?
Vash went still and his features fell into a confused expression as he realized he really didn't know Meryl Stryfe at all. After what, five years?
He reviewed in his mind everything he did know about her; that she was a kind, compassionate woman hiding behind a mask of gruffness. But why all the changes?
He recalled the way she had gently but firmly unclenched his hands, trying to pull him out of the hole he had dug for himself. Maybe it wasn't a hole. Maybe it was a grave.
He had been gone for close to five months. He had expected the girls to be gone when he came back to the little village, but they were still there. He remembered asking himself, why are they still here? Why didn't they leave? He had found out the answer soon enough; they had been waiting for him. Millie, he could understand. She was as sweet a girl as one could ever meet on this planet, but he knew that if Meryl had decided to leave, Millie would have followed her unquestioningly. Meryl had to have a reason too. Maybe it was because she—but no, that wasn't possible. She couldn't really—
Meryl opened the door, cutting off his thoughts.
She found him awake, sitting cross-legged on the floor, his back against the side of the bed. He looked up, startled, when she came in. His eyes seemed haunted for a moment, then that expression was replaced by his usual look of slightly goofy friendliness. Meryl stopped in her tracks, shocked by what she could see. The expression was no different than any other that graced his face, but his time, she could see through it. Such a normal expression for Vash suddenly looked so empty, so painfully empty…
"I-I made coffee," she stuttered, hoping he hadn't noticed the slight flush that was warming her cheeks.
"Thank you," he said quietly, taking the mug she held out to him with slightly trembling fingers.
She sat down beside him on the floor, and looked into her swirling black coffee. When she thought the silence had gone on for long enough, she stole a glance at him. He was staring into his coffee mug, as she had been. His look was vacant and he seemed to be lost in thought again. It was strange how anyone could look so serious with that ridiculous mop of hair falling in his eyes. Maybe it would be better if she left him alone for a while, she considered, looking back at her own mug.
"Meryl?" he asked softly.
She turned her head to look at him again, but he was still staring at his coffee mug. He sat frozen, the steam from the coffee mug puffing into the air occasionally as his silent breaths disturbed the faint silver wisps. It was the only motion coming from him at all. She stared at him, waiting for him to speak. Her eyebrows drew together slightly.
"Thank you."
Meryl opened her mouth in surprise. What in heaven's name was he thanking her for? He mouth opened and closed comically, like that of a dying fish. She snapped it shut, deciding that she didn't know what she could say if she did speak, and looked back at her coffee.
"Hey, Meryl?"
What was it now?
"How come you don't hit me over the head anymore?"
Her head whipped around, and she gawked at him. "Whaa--?! What are you talking about?"
A hastily hid smile chased across his lips, but not before she saw it.
She grasped her mug carefully in her left hand and delivered a good smack across the back of his head, releasing a torrent of barely repressed giggles from the tall man sitting next to her.
She put her hand in her lap and sipped her coffee haughtily, biting her tongue ferociously to keep from laughing with him. It took a tremendous amount of effort.
Vash straightened up, still giggling like a schoolgirl. She glanced at him without turning her head. He sipped his coffee between short fits of giggles, a slight blush warming his cheeks and a smile evident in his eyes.
She looked away and sipped her coffee, allowing herself to smile, just a little bit. As long as he didn't see, that was. Naturally.
"You should do that more often," a quiet but (for once) awake voice spoke. "Looks good on you."
She raised an eyebrow. Do what more often? Hit him?
"Smile, I mean," he added, as if in response to her thoughts.
So he had seen. She let herself smile a little more. There wasn't any use hiding it now. He laughed quietly into his coffee mug. She let go of her tongue and laughed with him.