"Well the test came back positive," the doctor said as he breezed back into
the room. "Congratulations."
Meryl sat uncomfortably on the edge of the examining table. She was wearing one of those flimsy one-use only hospital gowns, and after twenty minutes of waiting with every wind in the hospital finding a way to blow up her back she was beginning to get annoyed. 'How is it,' she had thought, 'That on this boiling hellhole of a planet the only cool place is the one where they make you sit half naked on a freezing cold metal table.' All thoughts, however, had flown out of her head with the doctor's somewhat abrupt entrance. He hadn't even looked up at her as he entered. Instead he kept his eyes on the chart before him and flipped it over to the next page as he sank without looking into the room's one low chair.
"Oh?" she replied. Her voice sounded foreign to her. It seemed to come from someplace far away and even she couldn't tell if it sounded happy or sad or scared.
"Mmmhmmm," he hummed in answer. He removed a red colored pen from his front shirt pocket and tapped it against the chart. "So. . .," he looked up at her for the first time, "When should I set your next appointment."
"What?" Meryl replied. Everything seemed to be happening so fast. The doctor was staring at her, his eyes huge behind the thick lenses of his glasses. For a moment they caught the light from the window and seemed to flash golden. Meryl caught her breath. The image disappeared almost immediately.
"Your next appointment, Miss Stryfe," the doctor said, enunciating every word and speaking slowly as if talking to a very young child. Meryl just blinked. "Your sonogram," he drawled and made little circles in the air with his pen, as if that would make what he was saying any more clear.
"Oh," she replied. It was all she could think to say. The appointment was set and Meryl got back into her street clothes. She left the clinic and went to Millie's.
"Meryl that's wonderful!" Millie had enthused as her husband gave his more stoic congratulations. The two kids had fairly bounced with excitement upon hearing her announcement.
"Mommy, mommy," said her little namesake, "Is Aunt Meryl really going to have a baby?"
Millie had assured her that she was and told her that someday soon they'd have a new little cousin to play with. "Oh Meryl," she had said, turning to her friend with tears of happiness twinkling in her eyes, "Now our children will grow up together." Her husband offered up a chair and a cup of tea. Meryl declined both. She hadn't known where else to go, but now that she was here she wanted nothing more than to leave. Seeing Millie with her loving husband and her beautiful, happy, normal family, she suddenly couldn't take it. Pleading duties at home she backed out of the kitchen and almost ran down the hall to the door. She didn't turn around, knowing that if she did so she would see Millie's hurt face staring back at her. Halfway to her apartment she slowed her pace and leaned against a bakery's whitewashed façade. Rolling her head back against the brick she looked up into the cloudless sky.
There were options, of course. They weren't talked about in polite society, but it was known all the same. There were . . . places. Places where foolish young unmarried girls could go to take care of problems like hers. It was supposed to be painful. It was supposed to be dangerous. It was only supposed to be for the desperate.
No.
Meryl's hand slid instinctively down over her smooth flat belly. No, had it been anyone else's child she might have considered it. But not this one.
Not Vash's child.
No. She could be his rock and she could bear his child too. She would bear his child. Their child. Slowly a smile crept over her face. The setting suns beat down on her black hair. They gleamed orange off of the white walls behind her. The store front was warm against her back. Not the oppressive wet heat she'd been suffering through the last two weeks, but a comforting dry warmth. Sighing the cares of the day from her body, Meryl thrust herself off of the wall and walked home; eyes stinging with effort, but tearless.
When she got there she dragged out her old travel typewriter. Patiently, agonizing over every sentence, she slowly tapped out two letters. The first was to Vash. In it she told him how much she missed him, about how hard it had been getting used to not having him around anymore. She told him about the child. She began by gushing out the joy and excitement she hadn't been able to express to Millie. Then the letter degraded into a recitation of her fears. How would she support the both of them? What would her parents' think? What if something happened to her during the birth? The letter ended with a pitiful plea for his return. Meryl stared at the paper before her, angry tears filling her eyes. She ripped it from the machine, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it into the waste container. Meryl Stryfe did NOT plead. Sighing she replaced it with a pristine new sheet of paper. It's not like she had an address to send it to, anyways.
The second letter was to her parents. Glossing over her regular pleasantries, she got right to the point. She was pregnant. She was unmarried. And, seeing as how the father had just wandered off into the sunset bent on saving all the inhabitants of Gunsmoke, it was unlikely she would be getting married any time in the near future. She signed it in her own precise script, addressed the envelope, and licked it closed.
'There,' she thought, 'Now the worst is over.'
She broke into sudden uncontrollable sobs. She had never lied so poorly to anyone as she had to herself just then. When night fell she crawled into bed and pulled a single thin sheet up over her head. Crying herself softly to sleep she forced herself not to say his name, afraid for some reason, that he might hear. In the morning her pillow was still wet.
Meryl sat uncomfortably on the edge of the examining table. She was wearing one of those flimsy one-use only hospital gowns, and after twenty minutes of waiting with every wind in the hospital finding a way to blow up her back she was beginning to get annoyed. 'How is it,' she had thought, 'That on this boiling hellhole of a planet the only cool place is the one where they make you sit half naked on a freezing cold metal table.' All thoughts, however, had flown out of her head with the doctor's somewhat abrupt entrance. He hadn't even looked up at her as he entered. Instead he kept his eyes on the chart before him and flipped it over to the next page as he sank without looking into the room's one low chair.
"Oh?" she replied. Her voice sounded foreign to her. It seemed to come from someplace far away and even she couldn't tell if it sounded happy or sad or scared.
"Mmmhmmm," he hummed in answer. He removed a red colored pen from his front shirt pocket and tapped it against the chart. "So. . .," he looked up at her for the first time, "When should I set your next appointment."
"What?" Meryl replied. Everything seemed to be happening so fast. The doctor was staring at her, his eyes huge behind the thick lenses of his glasses. For a moment they caught the light from the window and seemed to flash golden. Meryl caught her breath. The image disappeared almost immediately.
"Your next appointment, Miss Stryfe," the doctor said, enunciating every word and speaking slowly as if talking to a very young child. Meryl just blinked. "Your sonogram," he drawled and made little circles in the air with his pen, as if that would make what he was saying any more clear.
"Oh," she replied. It was all she could think to say. The appointment was set and Meryl got back into her street clothes. She left the clinic and went to Millie's.
"Meryl that's wonderful!" Millie had enthused as her husband gave his more stoic congratulations. The two kids had fairly bounced with excitement upon hearing her announcement.
"Mommy, mommy," said her little namesake, "Is Aunt Meryl really going to have a baby?"
Millie had assured her that she was and told her that someday soon they'd have a new little cousin to play with. "Oh Meryl," she had said, turning to her friend with tears of happiness twinkling in her eyes, "Now our children will grow up together." Her husband offered up a chair and a cup of tea. Meryl declined both. She hadn't known where else to go, but now that she was here she wanted nothing more than to leave. Seeing Millie with her loving husband and her beautiful, happy, normal family, she suddenly couldn't take it. Pleading duties at home she backed out of the kitchen and almost ran down the hall to the door. She didn't turn around, knowing that if she did so she would see Millie's hurt face staring back at her. Halfway to her apartment she slowed her pace and leaned against a bakery's whitewashed façade. Rolling her head back against the brick she looked up into the cloudless sky.
There were options, of course. They weren't talked about in polite society, but it was known all the same. There were . . . places. Places where foolish young unmarried girls could go to take care of problems like hers. It was supposed to be painful. It was supposed to be dangerous. It was only supposed to be for the desperate.
No.
Meryl's hand slid instinctively down over her smooth flat belly. No, had it been anyone else's child she might have considered it. But not this one.
Not Vash's child.
No. She could be his rock and she could bear his child too. She would bear his child. Their child. Slowly a smile crept over her face. The setting suns beat down on her black hair. They gleamed orange off of the white walls behind her. The store front was warm against her back. Not the oppressive wet heat she'd been suffering through the last two weeks, but a comforting dry warmth. Sighing the cares of the day from her body, Meryl thrust herself off of the wall and walked home; eyes stinging with effort, but tearless.
When she got there she dragged out her old travel typewriter. Patiently, agonizing over every sentence, she slowly tapped out two letters. The first was to Vash. In it she told him how much she missed him, about how hard it had been getting used to not having him around anymore. She told him about the child. She began by gushing out the joy and excitement she hadn't been able to express to Millie. Then the letter degraded into a recitation of her fears. How would she support the both of them? What would her parents' think? What if something happened to her during the birth? The letter ended with a pitiful plea for his return. Meryl stared at the paper before her, angry tears filling her eyes. She ripped it from the machine, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it into the waste container. Meryl Stryfe did NOT plead. Sighing she replaced it with a pristine new sheet of paper. It's not like she had an address to send it to, anyways.
The second letter was to her parents. Glossing over her regular pleasantries, she got right to the point. She was pregnant. She was unmarried. And, seeing as how the father had just wandered off into the sunset bent on saving all the inhabitants of Gunsmoke, it was unlikely she would be getting married any time in the near future. She signed it in her own precise script, addressed the envelope, and licked it closed.
'There,' she thought, 'Now the worst is over.'
She broke into sudden uncontrollable sobs. She had never lied so poorly to anyone as she had to herself just then. When night fell she crawled into bed and pulled a single thin sheet up over her head. Crying herself softly to sleep she forced herself not to say his name, afraid for some reason, that he might hear. In the morning her pillow was still wet.