Despite Meryl's intervention and frantic pleading, Knives' digression had spiraled his consciousness straight into an autistic state. For three days he had been laid up now, mumbling incoherencies and tossing and twitching like a bird without wings. Unaware. Unreachable. It wasn't a coma, and it wasn't some nightmarish sleep. It was like he was shackled somewhere deep inside his psyche, and couldn't get out.
And Meryl couldn't get in. She'd tried.
The room they kept him in was well-oxygenated with heavy vegetation. Rows of brightly colored fauna streaked from wall to wall, while thick-veined vines hung from intermittent rivets, draping the entire room in a shadowy, lush green. The foliage took its nourishment from a large, paneling window along the southern side, allowing natural sunlight to warm the air and feed their petals. All were added elements to lessen the troubled atmosphere. Pathetic attempts to calm someone who couldn't be reached.
Vash had painstakingly stripped Knives' body of all potential weapons in fear that he might hurt himself in the throes of his autism. At the moment however, the thrashing was minimal. He lay there in flannel pajama bottoms and socks, on a bed against the wall with no IVs, no medicinal equipment and no plant angel… None of those aids would have done him any good. It wasn't his body that was ailing.
It was his soul.
"J-janet Goldbloom…5'4, 150lbs. London. Earth. 2154. JerryGoldbloom, 6'2. 210lbs. Dublin. Earth. 2148….Kansas Ellington. 5'2, 125lbs…"
A nurturing reflex, Meryl gently squeezed his hand and leaned over him to run light nails through his sweaty hair. Every few minutes the raw-voiced babblings would swell into intermittent monologues of clarity, like now. And he'd been rattling off names and places for the past two hours.
She wondered who the people were.
"How's he doing?"
Meryl startled, even though Vash's voice was soft. "The same…" She turned back to meet his anxious eyes, trying her best to offer a hopeful smile. Vash's face was weary, worried. They hadn't had much of a chance to talk at all, having been alternating turns watching him while the other helped lessen the post-murder chaos of Eden.
"How is everything on the main level?" she asked.
"Quiet. For now. Mr. Thompson's blueprint for a twin Eden is only halfway finished, and Angela and Bejya are standing guard at his door like sentinels, keeping the girls away."
Meryl might have made a light joke at that like she usually did, but suddenly the angels' irrational competition over the resident human male wasn't so funny anymore. "Where's Milly?"
He frowned. "Sleeping. Deeply. I tried to get her up earlier, but she wouldn't budge. I think she's just worn out. It's almost like she's in a deep meditation or something."
"I see..." Meryl considered her friend. Milly was the one everybody else had leaned on until they were able to stand on their own again. Even Vash was useless for nearly a day after the incident. "She probably needs recuperating on every level. Leave her be for now."
"Yeah."
"Mariko Nakata, 5'4, 120lbs. Okinawa, Japan…," Knives' mental checklist was cut short as he spasmed violently and hissed. A grimace twisted his features and he curled up into fetal position, tugging against invisible restraints. He exhaled in a small whimper, and Vash and Meryl both just about lost it.
Vash dropped to his knees, and shook him, while Meryl leaned over the bed. "Knives! Knives, can you…!?"
His half-lidded, unseeing eyes widened dramatically and then scrunched shut. He tucked his head in his arms, "Maria Paz Gomez, 5'1, 105lbs, Aranjuez, Spain…! Pascual Mateo, Domingo Sanchez, Beatriz Tinoco!!" His lips moved frantically over the half-spoken mantras, as though chanting them were somehow his lifeline.
There had been worse outbursts, but none so informative. Vash turned to her. "Those...those are names."
"I know."
"How long has he been doing this?"
"Right after we switched shifts."
Vash leaned forward and listened, his concentration hard-lining his face. Meryl waited in dread anticipation until his brows raised in distressed understanding. He suddenly looked ill. "They're profiles."
"Profiles?"
"Of the humans on board the SEEDs ship." Vash leaned back and rubbed his eye sockets with the heels of his palms. "Like a twisted memorial, or form of self punishment. I think he's trying to recall each one. Their faces. Their identities… Of these people whose lives he stole when he snapped."
Vash's voice dropped to a wavering whisper as his brother pushed desperately through another round of names. "Knives… It's happening all over again, isn't it? Your heart has sustained more damage than your mind could handle…"
A weighted silence passed, save for the muffled sounds and rubbing sheets of Knives' inner struggle. Meryl bit her lips when Vash turned with that familiar moisture gathering in his eyes. His voice cracked. "It's because his heart was soft, Meryl. Do you see that? Back then…with Tessla, it was because his heart was so soulful and kind that it couldn't withstand the shock. If I'd been half as compassionate, then maybe it would have been me--"
"Vash--"
"And now…" he grit his teeth and shook Knives with a forced gentile. "All those psychological fortresses that his subconscious set up to protect him couldn't stand the bludgeoning of finding out his dream was a lie. His mass-murdering, unfounded." A tear welled up and rolled down his cheek. "Beneath those seven layers of steel, he still has a gelatin core." He pressed his brow against his brother's white-knuckled fists. "So many things are against him right now. And after he'd come so far, thanks to your influence…"
His tone scared her. "He'll pull through this, Vash," she almost snapped, unable to entertain the possibilities that they might lose him.
"Will he?" his tone was accusatory. Desperate. "What if what little sanity he's regained over the years dissipates? What if he's twice as insane, and decides that both species need to be terminated? What if he wakes up, and can't live with the agony of having murdered so many innocents?? Now that he knows the truth of what he's done? What if—"
His voice caught as Meryl leaned over and wrapped her arms around him. She pillowed Vash's head against her bosom and swallowed past the lump in her throat. "Don't you dare give up hope. He has you. He has me. We know what's happening to him. Somewhere between madness and broken soul, he'll find his place. Have faith, Vash. Have faith."
Reluctant hands lifted up to clutch at the material of her jacket, his breathing uneven. She stood there bent over him for several moments, while the half-dressed plant in the bed continued to spasm and utter names of those who'd died long ago. Meryl watched Knives through blurring vision as she held his brother, secretly taking comfort where she was supposed to be giving it. If Vash knew how worried she really was…
"Let me watch him tonight," she said quietly, so he wouldn't hear how shaky her own vocal cords were. "You're exhausted. Let go of your worries for one night, and sleep. Okay? Think of all we've accomplished. Slaves freed and lives saved. Rejoice in the positive, and the rest will come."
After a moment, he sniffled and pulled back. His eyes were almost electric green, due to the red-veined sleeplessness that webbed the whites around them. He wiped them roughly with the backs of his hands, and took her hint to stop being so pessimistic. "I am tired."
She stepped back as he stood, mouthing the words, 'think positive!'
"You'll be alright?" he asked.
"Of course."
"I'll bring you ice cream."
"Okay."
With one last hug and a pained glance at his brother, Vash left the room. She kept her eyes trained on his back, and her ears trained on his footsteps. It wasn't until the rapid thud of his feet left the bottom flight of stairs that she gave up trying to be strong.
She plunked down on the bed next to her companion of two years, unable to tell if his resulting flinch was just a reflexive impulse at being touched, or the byproduct of some wicked memory he was forcing himself to relive. Meryl rested her brow along his fevered shoulder, and reached one arm around his back while clasping her fingers over his wrist. She brought his hand up to her lips, wishing she could transfer all of her will via touch.
"Find the strength, Knives. We need you…" Her vision blurred even more as his glazed eyes fluttered and closed. She pulled the sheets up over his body, not caring now that the first set of tears rolled down her cheeks. "I'm here…" she breathed, biting back a sob. "Right in front of your face…!" The underlying panic began to roil in her abdomen, and she cleaved to his body even though his mind was so far away.
Meryl found herself buried under a heap of sudden, powerful emotions that, somewhere along the line, she'd developed for this being. This half-man. This brother of Vash's. The thought of not hearing his snide remarks anymore, or having such a haughty cockiness around to egg on and poke fun at… Of not having his constant need for attention, or quiet moments of stolen glances and guarded thoughts… It felt like a cold skeletal hand was squeezing her heart.
Three days of etiquette, patience, and long-suffering went out the window. She shook him. Hard. "You're an ass. A total jerk. And regardless of how much Vash wants to blame your sins on insanity, I suspect that a part of you still merited the hell you're suffering through right now," she sobbed, and thumped his ribs with her fist. "But I don't care! Do you hear me? I don't want to lose you to this. I don't want to lose you at all!!"
The words left her mouth before she thought to withhold them, out in the air and as open to interpretation as scripture. But there was no one to read into them. No one to look at her as though she'd just swallowed a bug. No one to be offended at her display of obvious weakness.
The spell wove on. His lips hadn't stopped moving once. She could have hung him upside down by his toes, and it would have made no difference… "Chad Lillifield, 6'3, 215lbs, Chicago, IL 2145. Shannon Lillifield, 5'11, 155lbs. Los Angeles, CA 2142… one daughter…"
Indifferent to audience or circumstance, unphased, unfocussed vision fixed on some random point beyond her nearness, and despite her arms around him his limbs trembled as though his body were suspended in the barren frigid air of a desert night.
A vortex of despair threatened to swallow her whole right then, and Meryl made a fist and pushed off him, her teeth clenched, and jaw muscles jumping. If she succumbed now, there'd be little recovery. And she'd be of no help at all if she were weak.
She stood. Distraction… I need a distraction. A quick break. Enough to regroup her emotional fortress. Splash some water on her face. Brush her teeth. Put on some pajamas… She informed him where she'd be out of habit. "Since you're not listening to me, I'm going to get ready for bed. Don't do anything outrageous in the few minutes I'm gone, got it? I'm not finished with you." Her voice wasn't quite stable, and she roughly wiped the tears from her face and forced herself to leave.
Agh. It's like pulling my teeth just to walk away from him…
.
.
"We can work through a few little differences. If we just talk to each other enough, we can come to understand each other. Because there's no difference between people's hearts and ours. Right Vash?"
The echo of a lost past reverberated in his consciousness like a ricocheting bullet, peppering his soul with karma, pain, and judgment all at once. He couldn't count how many times he'd heard it. Endless. He recognized the little boy's voice, and he recognized the words. They both belonged to him on the day of his first birthday.
And then the thing…the creature that had swallowed him whole the last time he was in this lawless, ungoverned place… His insane alter-ego. It wanted control again.
Weakened fool… Its presence. More ominous. Malignant.
You're done with…
Penetrating to the core of his marred black soul.
The way out…is through me…
Knives wept, and tried to bury himself into an illusionary hole. The voracious entity scourged his back, and burned his skin, while snake-like tendrils wrapped around his limbs, shackling him down. It'd been going on for too long. The battle he was waging to retain his sense of self was taking its toll. He panicked as his thinly held grip on his identity fragmented yet again, threatening to disperse his free will to the booming, hollow nothingness that swirled around him like a vulture.
The last time he'd lost to it, it had made him do horrible, horrible things… His only defense against it was memory, and even that was failing…
Than Diep, 5'5, 120lbs, Vietnam, 2149. Rolondo Benson, 5'10… He dutifully extracted the profiles from the recesses of his mind, remembering in detail faces, names, everything…of the people onboard the SEEDs project. The ones whose lives he'd played God with, when he was no God.
Mohonra Ava'a, 5'10, 290lbs, Hawaii, 2158. Meki Nu'usila, 5'9, 300lbs, Samoa, 2160…
His voice was empty - lost to another dimension…a place unlike this that was still bound by time and rules, but he listed them off regardless; a tribute, a memorial, some futile attempt to retract his genocidal slaughter of millions of innocents… He couldn't tell. Yet a conscience long-buried dictated that it be done…that somehow its fruition might assuage the bottomless well of regret that was ripening his soul up for oblivion.
But then a part of him almost wished for oblivion…
Find the strength…!
His head shot up.
We need you!
A distant reverberating voice, faded but there. Definitely there. Knives tried to rise, despite the suffocating weight bearing down on him. It…it can't be her…
You're such an ass!
His soul lurched. There was no mistaking that one. Like a ray of light, her familiar influence shot straight through the roiling mist that surrounded him. He fought against his restraints, and beheld her foreign element in the midst of his chaos. A vibrant, colorful brightness that made even the beast over him screech with alarm.
The light pulsed heavily, her voice more emotional than he'd ever heard it. I don't want to lose you…
Meryl… His awareness sharpened dramatically as the words clung tenaciously to the forefront of his mind. She meant it. There were tears in her voice. Dammit, girl… Amongst other things he didn't care to identify, it confused him. And made him mad. He shook his head and his self-punishment roared, denying her sentiment on every level. How could you say that!? I killed your parents!
Nothing.
Where's your dignity? How could you feel anything for me besides hatred?
The brightness flickered, and the slithering creatures around his abdomen and neck recoiled. He looked in awe at his bruised, bloodied wrists. Then it dawned on him. She'd pierced the veil.
It was a way out.
.
.
Meryl patted her face dry with the towel, and looked in the mirror. Ugh. Eyes are still puffy… She inhaled deeply, also frustrated that her breath was still uneven with emotion. She ran her fingers through her hair and shook it until the dark mass was draped around most of her face. Maybe she could hide it on her way back.
"Hey Meryl…"
She startled and spun around. Blocking the door with her tall lithe frame was none other than the first liberated angel. "Angela. Hi. I thought you were watching Mr. Thompson--"
"It's under control for now. You okay?"
"I was just—"
"Worrying about Knives, I bet."
Agh, that girl. Curse her ability to read vibes. Meryl fought it for all of three seconds before fessing up. The need to be honest with someone was pressing. Especially herself. She nodded somberly.
Angela pursed her lips and leaned against the door frame with her arms folded. Quietly. Patiently. She always knew when to listen. It was almost surreal to see how far she'd come with communication, and mimicking human expressions and gestures in the past two years.
"I can't reach him, Angela," Meryl breathed, not trusting her vocal cords for something this close to her heart. "And whatever he's experiencing in there, it's gotta be traumatic. I mean, you know Knives. Always carries around that impermeable attitude. That haughty indifference. Arrogant, condescending… Always in control." She paused to collect herself, shocked that his most annoying attributes were what she missed the most. "He's scared, Angela. Quivering lips, muted whimpering, brow drawn in a knot. Like a little boy. And for all my telepathy, and touching, and voice, I can't get through!" She clutched the back of a chair and leaned heavily on it.
Fortunately the plant angel knew better than to hug her. That would have just made it worse. Instead she closed the door to give Meryl more privacy. "Vash told me that Knives is facing the ugliness of his past."
Meryl sniffled and wiped her eyes. "I know he's facing the ugliness of his past. I'm all for him suffering a little, but when he's done," her voice hitched, and she made a fist. "I want him back!"
.
.
Knives was coming around, his vision still vivisected in a kaleidoscope of muted grays and dim yellows, and whites…his soul-crushing only alleviated somewhat by his wonderment.
Where am I?
Millions more names were on the tip of his tongue. He remembered reaching for Meryl's presence as it withdrew. He remembered being caught in a tug-a-war as the darkness of insanity tried to claim him back. He remembered being enveloped by the light. And then there was a thundering bass whoom, and his senses went blank.
He squinted as the haze around his eyes cleared. The floor was clean and paneled…the walls bolted around coiling metal pipes and tubes like the intestines of a monster. There was a two-seat control panel, observing an inner room with an encased bed. And equipment. A plethora of medicinal equipment. A sick feeling lodged in his gut, as he stood on wobbly legs. There was a vase on the floor with long-stemmed honeysuckle feathering out of it. But for all the flowers' sweet scent, nothing could dim the stench of formaldehyde when it reached his nose.
He swallowed down an instant gag reflex. His body recognized where he was before his mind could accept it, and like the rotation of Gunsmoke around its sun, he couldn't stop himself from turning around.
The corpse was still suspended in the vat of liquid just as he remembered it, a macabre display of unethical experimentation and cruelty. The young girl's face was peeled off, her skull cut, with the eyeballs and brain floating in a separate container. She'd been undressed and disemboweled, with her innards floating around what was left of her skin like some freak specimen…
Knives stumbled back. A hand shot to his mouth as he tried to muffle the gurgled cry that resulted. No coherent words, no coherent thought. What little sliver of sanity he'd regained was rapidly slipping as old regrets mingled with new regrets. The memory of wishing for an earlier birth winded him with its poignancy…a wish that he could have saved this beautiful unique baby sister from being tortured to death by too-curious hands, and indifferent hearts. He went reeling, and buckled.
No! Not here! Not like this! He gasped for breath, P-Piotr Svengard, 150lbs, 6'3, Stockholm, 2153! Olga Svengard. 123lbs, 5'2! S-S-S-
"Knives..."
The voice froze him, mid-profile...a soft helium-pitched small, small sound. He lifted his head and turned slowly.
"You don't need to say their names anymore, little brother."
The cherubic rounded face, and large turquoise eyes – eyes lighter than Vash's and twice as bright - blinked up at him with more compassion than he could bear. He picked his leaden body up off the floor onto his knees, until their heads were level, disbelieving eyes watering up like sieves for the one being in existence that he would not only cry for, but let see his tears. His lips quivered over her unforgotten name, not questioning how she was there, like a spirit visiting its grave. Only that she was. "Te…Tessla…"
Sad smile - an expression too mature for her young face, and she shuffled over to him in oversized baggy clothes, bringing both tiny hands up to wipe the moisture from his cheeks. "Don't cry."
A century and a half of holding it in…of forcing his fears, frustrations and animosities out destructive and violent venues, suddenly manifested itself in a deluge of emotion. With a choked sob, he caught her up in his long arms, and hugged her to his bosom like a long lost child. Big throaty cries erupted unchecked from his lips, out loud, and out of all reasonable control. The breakdown racked his entire body, and soaked her slender shoulder. It hurt worse than he could have imagined.
"I couldn't save you!" he wept. "If only I'd been born first, maybe I could've--"
"I know." She ran her hand over his hair. "I know."
His bottom lip sucked in and out with each tragic breath. "But what I did to them, afterwards... You don't know what I've done…" he held his trembling hands up between them, a fresh set of tears streaming down his cheeks, "what these half-crazed and desperate hands have done in an effort to avenge your death!"
She tilted her head, and her gentle-hued eyes grew heavy with severity. "But I do."
So she knew? He let go of her and curled further into himself, wishing he could wriggle out of his own, wretched skin. "Th-this whole time, I'd convinced myself that we were godly. It justified everything. But now... We're no different, are we? Sister species...sentient beings with the same souls..."
There was a heavy pause, and she confirmed the truth of his statement with her fragile silence. He whimpered in anguish, knowing with a surety that nothing he could do would even come close to balance out the injustice he'd wrought upon both peoples. Surely they wanted him dead. It was the most he could give, but also the least--
"You want to kill yourself?" she asked softly, privy to his thoughts. He looked up, mouth agape. She frowned sympathy at him. "Do you think that the souls of all the lives you ended are crying out for your death?"
"Yes," he breathed.
She knelt down in front of him until she was looking up into his eyes. A corner of her compassionate mouth lifted. "Hatred and resentment are only ailments of the living, Knives. Not the dead."
He blinked stupidly. Such profound words from the mouth of a child... "I...I don't--"
"--believe that you have the right to go on living?" She touched his face. "Then remember..."
He stared at her in stunned disbelief, as her words summoned a memory archived in one of the deepest corners of his mind…those last moments on the spaceship, in the moment of The Great Fall. Evidence he'd long-since buried, because the truth of it would have sucked at his existence like a gaping black whole. A fresh set of tears rolled down his face.
Vash and Rem had been asleep. His right hand was tapping furiously away at the panel, while his left was smearing his cheek with his own blood. "I…I was scared."
"Yes."
Air hissed in and out of his teeth as he clawed at his face, recalling the insane alter-ego that had taken control of his life at that point – having gone beyond whispering and suggestion, and actually moving his limbs. Bringing the SEEDs project to a tragic end. It was the only other time in his life that his eyes had leaked real tears…the only time in his life he'd deliberately marred his body as a dim remnant of his former self tried to stop the genocide…biting the inside of his cheeks as his right hand tapped away, chewing the entire nail right off his left thumb and swallowing it… "I couldn't stop myself!"
Two hands on his shoulders. "But you wanted to."
A hiccuping sob. "But... What I did..."
"Gunsmoke needs you. Those people need you. Go back, little brother."
He almost choked. "How...how can I? How can I face them?"
The next phrase was sent telepathically, penetrating his insecurities like a knife and reverberating all the way to his core.
You're not that monster anymore, Knives. You haven't been for over a hundred years.
.
.
Elsewhere on the ship, an individual who had been lost in slumber, suddenly sat bolt upright in bed, staring wildly against the blackness as her heart pounded in her ears. She brought trembling hands up to touch her face, her hair, her mouth...
Whoa...
.
.
Meryl had cut her conversation short with Angela for her own sake, and managed to meander back to Knives' room without drawing notice. Head bowed. Hair obscuring her features…with a rollup mattress tucked under one arm, and a pillow under the other…
As she marched up those last steps, she self-consciously patted her face, and wiped her eyes, as though it would make them look any less swollen from crying. Since when did I become such a baby? And then, Agh. It's not like he's awake to poke fun at me anyways…
She swooshed open the door, took three steps in, and stiffened. The bed was empty.
Her heartbeat quickened. Had Vash taken him out? Meryl twisted to go track them down, wishing he could have at least informed her—
And stopped on the about-face. Sitting on the window sill with his back against its frame, and one leg pulled up, sat their patient. Staring out wistfully into the deepening dusk. Meryl made a small startled noise, and both the mattress and pillow fell. The relief and wonderment were so overwhelming, she couldn't even say his name.
The moons were out…bright enough to silver his profile. His easy-on-the-eyes profile, with an expression that bore no ill will, or hard edge. Just a tremendous sadness. She almost didn't recognize him. "Kn…Kn…Knives…?"
He said nothing. Eyes still transfixed on some random point outside the window, he didn't even look at her. Her bare feet whispered across the grass as she ran up to him, her heart in her throat. "Are...are you okay?" she cried more than asked, stopping on the bare edge of his personal space. Up close, she saw the salt lines on his cheeks, and puffiness of his eyes.
His chest heaved with a deep sigh, and he finally met her stare. She held her breath. There was a light snort - a dim remnant of his former self. "I'm not crazy, if that's what you mean," he replied in a hoarse voice.
Meryl hiccupped, and the tears she'd just barely managed to get under control, came pouring back. Before she thought to stop herself, she fell on him, too damn relieved to care about how many unspoken rules she was breaking between them. She wrapped her arms around his neck and nuzzled her face in his chest. "I was so worried," she sobbed in a choked whisper, wetting his bosom with her tears. "I couldn't reach you. I tried. For days, I tried! I was afraid you'd never come back..."
Two startled breaths ruffled her hair. His muscles tensed at her affection, and she could feel his heartbeat quicken. He obviously had no idea what to do with her, but Meryl almost enjoyed his discomfort, because it meant that he was still him. She waited in anticipation for his embarassed protest. But it didn't come.
He shifted awkwardly, but after a few seconds, he finally gave up on trying to wriggle free, and rested a tentative hand on her shoulder. "M-Meryl..."
"What?"
"You did reach me."
Her eyes widened. "You heard me?"
"You said I was an ass."
"Ah! You heard me!"
He was quiet for a moment, letting his memory tickle the edges of her mind...of a dark, vast place. Of shackles, conflict, and hovering insanity. Then a light...a light embodying her voice. Her blood ran cold. That's where you were? In that place?
She felt him shiver. "Mm. Though I don't..." his voice hitched, and he tried again, "I don't understand why you wanted me back so bad."
He sounded genuinely confused. She could hear it in his words. Could even feel it in the vibes emitted between them. She made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a cry. "Well, I'd explain to you, but..." She sniffled and wiped her eyes on his chest. It was time for a little tease. "...hell if I know. It's not like you're all that pleasant."
He huffed in a light exhale at the jest. It might have been a chuckle had he dedicated more than one breath to it. She felt the weight of his other hand clasp her waist; whether it was to ease her back, or pull her closer, she didn't know. Apparently neither did he, since it just stayed there, doing nothing.
"Now that you're back, will you stay? With us?" she asked, reluctant to break the spell.
"Where else would I go?"
"Good." She closed her eyes. "Good..." Several seconds passed as her relief simmered down, and the taboo sensation of hugging Knives started to cloud her senses. He suddenly seemed sensual to her, with the smooth heat of his body, and his wounded eyes. Her hand dropped on a volition of its own to glide along the soft downy hair that blanketed his chest...
"Karen Lillifield," he uttered, breaking the trance.
"K-Karen...? Wait..." She frowned. The name triggered something. Her body had an instant reaction to it, manifest by a quickened heartbeat, and shallow breath. She pulled back to stare at his oddly determined face. "Wha…what did you just say?"
He pursed his lips, as though mustering up courage. "That's...that's your name. The only daughter of Chad and Shannon Lillifield. You were earthborn in New Jersey, USA, 2174. Your father was an engineer, and your mother was a speech therapist."
"Karen...Lillifield..." she repeated in an awed whisper. Her body began to tremble, and her chest began to hurt. A slow hand lifted to cover her mouth as a gasping sob tried to escape. The tears replenished in a half-second, falling down her face at an alarming rate. She couldn't even lecture him for lying to her about her identity, before. Couldn't even speak.
Intimidated by her emotion, he chewed his bottom lip, and dropped his gaze to his lap. A light flush spread across his cheekbones, and he fidgeted, those ice-blue eyes that had once been so cold finally lifting and locking stares with her in a way that both warmed her heart and weakened her knees.
"I used to watch you sleep in your cyberpod," he explained softly, "on the ship back then. For hours. I…" he looked down again, his hands clenching into fists and then forcibly relaxing. He snorted at his own discomfort. The next words he didn't even bother to say out loud.
I thought you were pretty…
She gasped. Right in between her sobs. Two confessions, both more than she could emotionally contain in one instant. Rendered speechless by the news of her long lost identity, and Knives' affection for her - impulse took over. She shoved herself forward, but somehow in the delivery of her overwhelmed gratitude, her face neglected to tilt enough to bury itself into his shoulder. Instead, she found herself kissing him, the moisture of their mouths mingling with residual tears.
A small stunned whimper resounded deep in his throat, and Meryl quickly came to her senses. Ooooh! Oh shit! She leapt back, clamping a hand over her offending lips. Knives was gaping at her in a heady cocktail of intrigue, passion and residual anguish, frozen on the spot.
"Sorry. I, uh," she smacked her forehead as her cheeks grew hot with a flush. "I didn't mean to..." Where the hell did that come from!? "Vash will want to know that... Awake. You are. So I'll," she nearly tripped as she backed towards the door. "Send him. Okay? Okay." Just before exiting, she swiveled her head around the door. "You'll still be here, right?"
Still gaping, Knives nodded mutely.
"Right." With that, she all but ran down the levels, wondering through crazed exasperation at what point the refined, professional insurance girl became the type of person who just spontaneously kissed people.