When they had finally managed to calm down their hilarity, he turned to her
with a more serious look in his eyes.
"Really, what have you been up to?"
"Me?" Meryl asked, forcing down giggles and wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. "Oh, you know me. Work mostly. I don't get out as much as I used to, though, just a desk job now."
Vash cocked his head with interest. "And Millie?"
"Millie's married now, Vash." Vash. She smiled with disbelief just saying the name. "She's got two kids. A boy and a girl, five and seven."
"Really?" He flashed one of those infectious smiles. "That's great. I'm so happy for her. If they're anything like she was they must be a handful."
"They are, but they're sweet like her too and-" Meryl caught her breath. He had leaned across the table towards her and his face hovered within inches of her own. His hand had reached out and covered hers. His touch was light and cool. Her own skin felt like a stove top in comparison.
"You're not married." Well, at least that explained him holding her hand.
"No, I'm not." He was gazing at her with that open eyed look, head tilted up slightly so that he had to look at her past his one disorderly curl. It made him seem quite young. Innocent, almost.
"Why?"
"I don't know," she stalled. Being that close to him was making her nervous. " I never bought into the idea that a woman needed a husband to have meaning in her life." She managed to extricate her hand a tad roughly from his grasp. She folded it complacently around the bottom of her drink
Vash sat back and regarded her silently. That was the excuse she had always given everyone else before. It has seemed to satisfy them, satisfy their preconceived notions about her character as a harridan. But he was still looking at her with open eyes. She had guessed he would know it for what it was. "I guess I just never found the right guy," she admitted. 'Yeah,' continued her inner monologue, 'One of the hazards of being a perfectionist, you won't settle for less than perfect.'
They sat in silence for a moment. Across the bar, a waitress tripped while holding a tray. It went crashing to the floor in a tidal wave of spilled liquor, breaking glass, and the amused clapping of the surrounding patrons. Meryl decided to take advantage of the momentary confusion in the room and steer the discussion in the direction she wanted.
"So what have you been doing?" He leaned even farther back into his chair.
"Nothing."
"Ten years and nothing."
"Pretty much," he said in an amused voice. He took out his sunglasses and started playing with them absentmindedly. Meryl wondered if they were the same ones he had always had. They looked the same. 'It would be amazing,' she thought, 'If after all he's been through, those fragile little things survived.'
"Wandering," he added dismissively. He was looking at his double reflection in the mirrored gold surfaces. "First with Knives, and then," he set them down next to his whiskey glass, "On my own."
Meryl looked at the glasses. Her own yellowed reflection looked back at her inquiringly. They were the same. Same hair, same glasses, only the coat had changed.
"How long are you here for then?"
"I hadn't really thought about it."
"Oh." The reflection in the glasses seemed somehow disappointed. An impatient honking noise drifted in through the half doors. Meryl bounded to her feet, sending the table rocking in her haste. "That's my cab," she stammered. He nodded and tossed back his drink. In the space of a few seconds his eyes had changed colors yet again. Now they seemed dull blue, like the sky on a day when it was too hot to do anything but sit at home in front of the fan. She had seen that look in him before too: that day she had found him after he had dragged himself up to the top of the cliff.
"Where.uhh.Could you.umm..," she was stuttering again. "Do you have a place to stay?" she rushed breathlessly through the statement. He shook his head without bothering to raise his eyes to her.
"You could stay with me."
No reaction.
"That is, I mean, if you wanted to."
Blue eyes blinked at her, slowly.
"I have room and.if you want to stick around tomorrow.maybe I could take you to visit Millie.I know she'd love to see you and." Her voice trailed off. Deep within her stomach she was beginning to feel a panicked emptiness.
"I have donuts."
The chair scraped backwards abruptly as he stood. The chink of metal on metal rang out as he tossed his tip upon the table. Setting his glasses into place with one hand, he glanced at her through their periphery.
"Well, why didn't you say so?"
Ducking her head to hide her smile, Meryl headed for the doorway. He fell in step behind her, close enough that she could sense his nearness, but not quite touching. Outside the taxi belched exhaust and the driver tapped his fingers against the window edge in an irritated fashion.
The ride home was not particularly enjoyable. First, because of the uncomfortable silence that permeated through the cabby's cigar smoke, and second because Vash's long spindly legs had never been made to fold up into the tight confines of a car's back seat. Things were made even more cramped by the large misshapen pack, looking as if it, at least, had been through hell and back, that rested in his lap. With a sweet breath of relief they hauled themselves from the cab and made their way up three flights to her apartment.
Meryl couldn't help but sigh as the door swung open and she was engulfed by the sense of all that was familiar and normal and sane. It had been the kind of an evening to make one appreciate such things, and it wasn't over yet.
"It's not much," she said flipping on the light and making a sweeping gesture with her hand, "but it's home." She looked up at Vash to see him squinting from the relative gloom of the hallway into the stark, white, brightness of her foyer. She reached towards him. He gave an almost startled look at her proffered hand and, after a moment of consideration, placed his palm in hers. Meryl had the sudden impression of trying to coax a starved stray out from the back alley refuse it had been using as a den. His eyes shifted almost nervously from side to side and his head seemed tucked in a perpetual shrug, as if he were trying to make himself shorter than he really was. She could almost imagine a non-existent tail tucked firmly between his legs and suppressed the instinct to pat him on the head and call him a 'good boy'.
She turned away and lead him by the hand into the main room of her apartment. It was darker in here, lit only by the orange gleam filtering in from the street lights outside her window. The kitchen was small, but airy, and open to the rest of the room. A small table competed for space on the left side of the room with the one dark leather armchair. The right side of the room was filled by the worn, patterned sofa. There was a television set opposite the sofa, and a small radio, but neither got much use anymore. The tiny bookshelf next to them was so covered in dust that she was momentarily embarrassed. Vash wandered over to the window and pulled her wispy curtain aside for a better view. Light fell across half his face, making one glass lens shine in reflection and turning him momentarily into a harlequin of dark and light.
Meryl walked slowly into the room's center and gave an appraising look to her dilapidated furniture. "The couch is a little small," she said almost to herself, "You can sleep in my bed if you want." She turned her glance onto her guest.
One sculpted yellow eyebrow arched questioningly above the rim of his glasses.
Meryl colored furiously and her eyes widened in shock at what she herself had just said. Sputtering, she managed to croak out, "And I would sleep out here.of course." She grimaced. 'Stupid, stupid Meryl!' He was leaning comfortably next to the widow and wearing a grin that stretched across the whole of his face. Shaking his head with a chuckle, he slipped his glasses from his face.
"That's all right," he said, tossing his massive pack onto the sagging sofa, "I'm fine out here." Sitting down opposite his luggage, he leaned his forearms upon his knees. In the orange half-darkness, his eyes looked green. "It's really nice of you to let me stay here."
"Nonsense," she replied, "A friend I haven't seen in a decade shows up in my town and I don't at least offer him a couch to sleep on? What would my mother say?" She smiled, and hoped the gloom hid the color in her cheeks. "Besides, I could use the company."
The silence was palpable. Outside, a car drove past on the empty street. The clock perched on the bookshelf ticked loudly and the floorboards creaked as Meryl shifted her weight nervously. "Well, umm.," she continued lamely, "If you need anything just.umm..let me know...okay?" Vash nodded, then lowered himself to the cushions, folding his arms behind his head and using his bag as a pillow. He stared quietly at the ceiling and Meryl took the opportunity to tiptoe towards her room.
"Meryl?"
Hand on the knob, she was frozen in her tracks by the sound of his voice. Drifting across the room, it was almost a whisper.
"Thanks."
Without turning around, she nodded in acknowledgement and slipped into her bedroom. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it, surprised at the extent of her own weight and her sudden inability to support it. Sliding to the floor, she tipped her head back against the door frame and began a calming breathing exercise Millie had taught her. When her heart stopped beating loud enough that she was sure it was audible, she finally let herself mentally examine her current situation.
Vash the Stampede was in her home. Vash. The Stampede. The 60 billion double dollar man. The humanoid typhoon. The outlaw responsible for the destruction of no less than two territory towns. The man who, ten years ago, had strode out of her life and into the desert, never to return, or so she had supposed, was in her apartment. Lying on her couch. Not twelve steps from the door to her bedroom. The door that she was now crouched in a helpless heap at the foot of.
And he had said her name.
There had been a time when she had thought he didn't even know it. Certainly they had gone through the majority of their friendship without him ever using it, and she had thought that was fair, seeing as how she had spent the first several weeks of their acquaintance refusing to call him anything at all. But she had been surprised that day when he had answered her simple query, using her name with such casual familiarity. It had been enough to shock the question right out of her memory and she had been forced to fumble for a lame excuse.
That day was burned into her memory with such clarity. There were very few days during that time of strife and pain that could be considered, at their end, to have been good. But that day, well, it had been perfect. They had rented a car to get to their destination; no hijacked sand steamers or smelly pack animals. Millie and Wolfwood had spent the drive flirting merrily in the front seat. Except for Meryl's short question and Vash's surprising answer, the two of them had sat in comfortable silence in the back. And despite some minor troubles later on, they had closed out the day with a good meal and just in general enjoyment of one another's company. It was the last time she had ever remembered seeing Vash happy, or Mr. Wolfwood for that matter.
And he had said her name. Not such a big deal when you came down to it. Nothing to get all worked up over. Certainly nothing to make one weak in the knees. No, she was obviously going soft in her old age. The foolishness of it all struck her like a blow. 'Get up Meryl,' she ordered herself. 'Get off the floor, you fool, what do you think you're doing?' Accepting the logic of her mental self, she unfolded her legs and rose to a somewhat wobbly stance.
Slowly, mechanically, she got out of her street clothes and into her sensible pajamas. She brushed her teeth, turned out the light, and curled up on top of the covers. Pulling her knees up into a fetal position, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to force her body into a state of relaxation.
Vash the Stampede. In her home.
Smiling uncontrollably, Meryl tried burying her burning cheeks in the cool linen of her pillow.
Millie was going to flip.
"Really, what have you been up to?"
"Me?" Meryl asked, forcing down giggles and wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. "Oh, you know me. Work mostly. I don't get out as much as I used to, though, just a desk job now."
Vash cocked his head with interest. "And Millie?"
"Millie's married now, Vash." Vash. She smiled with disbelief just saying the name. "She's got two kids. A boy and a girl, five and seven."
"Really?" He flashed one of those infectious smiles. "That's great. I'm so happy for her. If they're anything like she was they must be a handful."
"They are, but they're sweet like her too and-" Meryl caught her breath. He had leaned across the table towards her and his face hovered within inches of her own. His hand had reached out and covered hers. His touch was light and cool. Her own skin felt like a stove top in comparison.
"You're not married." Well, at least that explained him holding her hand.
"No, I'm not." He was gazing at her with that open eyed look, head tilted up slightly so that he had to look at her past his one disorderly curl. It made him seem quite young. Innocent, almost.
"Why?"
"I don't know," she stalled. Being that close to him was making her nervous. " I never bought into the idea that a woman needed a husband to have meaning in her life." She managed to extricate her hand a tad roughly from his grasp. She folded it complacently around the bottom of her drink
Vash sat back and regarded her silently. That was the excuse she had always given everyone else before. It has seemed to satisfy them, satisfy their preconceived notions about her character as a harridan. But he was still looking at her with open eyes. She had guessed he would know it for what it was. "I guess I just never found the right guy," she admitted. 'Yeah,' continued her inner monologue, 'One of the hazards of being a perfectionist, you won't settle for less than perfect.'
They sat in silence for a moment. Across the bar, a waitress tripped while holding a tray. It went crashing to the floor in a tidal wave of spilled liquor, breaking glass, and the amused clapping of the surrounding patrons. Meryl decided to take advantage of the momentary confusion in the room and steer the discussion in the direction she wanted.
"So what have you been doing?" He leaned even farther back into his chair.
"Nothing."
"Ten years and nothing."
"Pretty much," he said in an amused voice. He took out his sunglasses and started playing with them absentmindedly. Meryl wondered if they were the same ones he had always had. They looked the same. 'It would be amazing,' she thought, 'If after all he's been through, those fragile little things survived.'
"Wandering," he added dismissively. He was looking at his double reflection in the mirrored gold surfaces. "First with Knives, and then," he set them down next to his whiskey glass, "On my own."
Meryl looked at the glasses. Her own yellowed reflection looked back at her inquiringly. They were the same. Same hair, same glasses, only the coat had changed.
"How long are you here for then?"
"I hadn't really thought about it."
"Oh." The reflection in the glasses seemed somehow disappointed. An impatient honking noise drifted in through the half doors. Meryl bounded to her feet, sending the table rocking in her haste. "That's my cab," she stammered. He nodded and tossed back his drink. In the space of a few seconds his eyes had changed colors yet again. Now they seemed dull blue, like the sky on a day when it was too hot to do anything but sit at home in front of the fan. She had seen that look in him before too: that day she had found him after he had dragged himself up to the top of the cliff.
"Where.uhh.Could you.umm..," she was stuttering again. "Do you have a place to stay?" she rushed breathlessly through the statement. He shook his head without bothering to raise his eyes to her.
"You could stay with me."
No reaction.
"That is, I mean, if you wanted to."
Blue eyes blinked at her, slowly.
"I have room and.if you want to stick around tomorrow.maybe I could take you to visit Millie.I know she'd love to see you and." Her voice trailed off. Deep within her stomach she was beginning to feel a panicked emptiness.
"I have donuts."
The chair scraped backwards abruptly as he stood. The chink of metal on metal rang out as he tossed his tip upon the table. Setting his glasses into place with one hand, he glanced at her through their periphery.
"Well, why didn't you say so?"
Ducking her head to hide her smile, Meryl headed for the doorway. He fell in step behind her, close enough that she could sense his nearness, but not quite touching. Outside the taxi belched exhaust and the driver tapped his fingers against the window edge in an irritated fashion.
The ride home was not particularly enjoyable. First, because of the uncomfortable silence that permeated through the cabby's cigar smoke, and second because Vash's long spindly legs had never been made to fold up into the tight confines of a car's back seat. Things were made even more cramped by the large misshapen pack, looking as if it, at least, had been through hell and back, that rested in his lap. With a sweet breath of relief they hauled themselves from the cab and made their way up three flights to her apartment.
Meryl couldn't help but sigh as the door swung open and she was engulfed by the sense of all that was familiar and normal and sane. It had been the kind of an evening to make one appreciate such things, and it wasn't over yet.
"It's not much," she said flipping on the light and making a sweeping gesture with her hand, "but it's home." She looked up at Vash to see him squinting from the relative gloom of the hallway into the stark, white, brightness of her foyer. She reached towards him. He gave an almost startled look at her proffered hand and, after a moment of consideration, placed his palm in hers. Meryl had the sudden impression of trying to coax a starved stray out from the back alley refuse it had been using as a den. His eyes shifted almost nervously from side to side and his head seemed tucked in a perpetual shrug, as if he were trying to make himself shorter than he really was. She could almost imagine a non-existent tail tucked firmly between his legs and suppressed the instinct to pat him on the head and call him a 'good boy'.
She turned away and lead him by the hand into the main room of her apartment. It was darker in here, lit only by the orange gleam filtering in from the street lights outside her window. The kitchen was small, but airy, and open to the rest of the room. A small table competed for space on the left side of the room with the one dark leather armchair. The right side of the room was filled by the worn, patterned sofa. There was a television set opposite the sofa, and a small radio, but neither got much use anymore. The tiny bookshelf next to them was so covered in dust that she was momentarily embarrassed. Vash wandered over to the window and pulled her wispy curtain aside for a better view. Light fell across half his face, making one glass lens shine in reflection and turning him momentarily into a harlequin of dark and light.
Meryl walked slowly into the room's center and gave an appraising look to her dilapidated furniture. "The couch is a little small," she said almost to herself, "You can sleep in my bed if you want." She turned her glance onto her guest.
One sculpted yellow eyebrow arched questioningly above the rim of his glasses.
Meryl colored furiously and her eyes widened in shock at what she herself had just said. Sputtering, she managed to croak out, "And I would sleep out here.of course." She grimaced. 'Stupid, stupid Meryl!' He was leaning comfortably next to the widow and wearing a grin that stretched across the whole of his face. Shaking his head with a chuckle, he slipped his glasses from his face.
"That's all right," he said, tossing his massive pack onto the sagging sofa, "I'm fine out here." Sitting down opposite his luggage, he leaned his forearms upon his knees. In the orange half-darkness, his eyes looked green. "It's really nice of you to let me stay here."
"Nonsense," she replied, "A friend I haven't seen in a decade shows up in my town and I don't at least offer him a couch to sleep on? What would my mother say?" She smiled, and hoped the gloom hid the color in her cheeks. "Besides, I could use the company."
The silence was palpable. Outside, a car drove past on the empty street. The clock perched on the bookshelf ticked loudly and the floorboards creaked as Meryl shifted her weight nervously. "Well, umm.," she continued lamely, "If you need anything just.umm..let me know...okay?" Vash nodded, then lowered himself to the cushions, folding his arms behind his head and using his bag as a pillow. He stared quietly at the ceiling and Meryl took the opportunity to tiptoe towards her room.
"Meryl?"
Hand on the knob, she was frozen in her tracks by the sound of his voice. Drifting across the room, it was almost a whisper.
"Thanks."
Without turning around, she nodded in acknowledgement and slipped into her bedroom. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it, surprised at the extent of her own weight and her sudden inability to support it. Sliding to the floor, she tipped her head back against the door frame and began a calming breathing exercise Millie had taught her. When her heart stopped beating loud enough that she was sure it was audible, she finally let herself mentally examine her current situation.
Vash the Stampede was in her home. Vash. The Stampede. The 60 billion double dollar man. The humanoid typhoon. The outlaw responsible for the destruction of no less than two territory towns. The man who, ten years ago, had strode out of her life and into the desert, never to return, or so she had supposed, was in her apartment. Lying on her couch. Not twelve steps from the door to her bedroom. The door that she was now crouched in a helpless heap at the foot of.
And he had said her name.
There had been a time when she had thought he didn't even know it. Certainly they had gone through the majority of their friendship without him ever using it, and she had thought that was fair, seeing as how she had spent the first several weeks of their acquaintance refusing to call him anything at all. But she had been surprised that day when he had answered her simple query, using her name with such casual familiarity. It had been enough to shock the question right out of her memory and she had been forced to fumble for a lame excuse.
That day was burned into her memory with such clarity. There were very few days during that time of strife and pain that could be considered, at their end, to have been good. But that day, well, it had been perfect. They had rented a car to get to their destination; no hijacked sand steamers or smelly pack animals. Millie and Wolfwood had spent the drive flirting merrily in the front seat. Except for Meryl's short question and Vash's surprising answer, the two of them had sat in comfortable silence in the back. And despite some minor troubles later on, they had closed out the day with a good meal and just in general enjoyment of one another's company. It was the last time she had ever remembered seeing Vash happy, or Mr. Wolfwood for that matter.
And he had said her name. Not such a big deal when you came down to it. Nothing to get all worked up over. Certainly nothing to make one weak in the knees. No, she was obviously going soft in her old age. The foolishness of it all struck her like a blow. 'Get up Meryl,' she ordered herself. 'Get off the floor, you fool, what do you think you're doing?' Accepting the logic of her mental self, she unfolded her legs and rose to a somewhat wobbly stance.
Slowly, mechanically, she got out of her street clothes and into her sensible pajamas. She brushed her teeth, turned out the light, and curled up on top of the covers. Pulling her knees up into a fetal position, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to force her body into a state of relaxation.
Vash the Stampede. In her home.
Smiling uncontrollably, Meryl tried burying her burning cheeks in the cool linen of her pillow.
Millie was going to flip.