Disclaimer: I do not own Trigun. I do not own Meryl, or Milly, or Wolfwood, or Vash, or Knives or even the cute little black kitty. I simply write fanfiction in my spare time. Though sometimes I really, really, really wish I *owned* Vash. (hehe)
Author's Notes: *Singing off key to the tune of Pop goes the Weasel* "There....once was a girl who procrastinated, procrastinated, procrastinated. There once was a girl who procrastinated, and now her life is so screwed." So for your enjoyment, the results of my procrastination, and the cause of my life being so screwed. *scurries off to watch anime, er, write paper. I meant write paper. Really! I did!* Brief notes follow.
Roganu-chan: As promised, a bit of fluff; soft as down on a duck, cushiony as a blanket straight from the dryer, plump as a donut just baked. Enjoy! (Hahahaha! The author is soooooo unpoetic!)
krazyMaze: Nope! No naughty dreams in this one. Just naughty thoughts. *Hey, I said I was demented not non-perverted!*
FaeofLight: "Fanfic god" huh? *blushes* Oh, I really love you as a reviewer now! Hehehe! Enjoy!
theoldfart: Interesting name! Uh...thanks for reading! And here's some more reading!
S-chan The Great: *taking butterknife* I've been looking for that! I was trying to spread peanut butter but it doesn't work well with just your fingers. Er, yeah. And now, let me end the note in a traditional way. . .Noooooo! Not another threat! *gasp* I don't know how much more I can take!
julianne athae: You too? Okay, guys. Really. Don't get god mad. I'm not him. For one thing, I don't glow in the dark.
Abby-chantheblackcat: Ummm...I really don't know what to say. Thanks? I guess? Okay. Bye now.
Arafel: *grin* You like Grandma, huh? Well, I like her too. As to Knives. . .well, you'll see.
I hope I didn't miss anyone! And now. . . *pause for dramatic effect; drumroll offstage*. . . the fanfiction.
Chapter 7
Despite the knowledge that Knives will never be a danger to anyone ever again (Can you imagine that? Die worthless hu – . . .Zzzzzzzz. Doc says he'll be like that now from now on, falling asleep "at the drop of a hat") these light bantering moments (Insert dry ironic laughter) still tire me out. No wonder Meryl glares so much. It's probably the way she deals with it. Well, there won't be anybody to glare at when he wakes up and finds his food cold. Oh well.
Damn. My shoulder still hurts. Today had been a tiring day. First the bank and the mayor and the extended assignment with Grandma Mary Sue and then Knives. Whew! It was enough to test anyone's strength. Hey, I may not be human but I can still get tired! And hungry. Too hungry, in fact to even think about anything else but donuts. I really should take care of this shoulder before the fabric gets stuck to me. But I'm so damn tired. And hungry. Wait. I said that already. Just sit down at the kitchen a moment to think.
I put my head in my hands, lean against the table, and close my eyes. Just a second to rest. . . .
"I'm home," Meryl calls loudly before her body comes into view. My head snaps up. Did I drop off to sleep? Hmph. I guess Knives is contagious. (Again, insert dry ironic laughter) She leans against the doorframe and frowns at me. "What's the matter with you? You look like that cat dragged you back and forth in the street before spitting up on you," she says cheerily while pointing at the windowsill. The black cat blinked sleepy green eyes at her.
"That was mean!" I whine.
"Sorry," she mumbles contritely. "Couldn't help it. Tradition. Here." The box of donuts lands with a thud in front of me. "They couldn't sell them. Like usual."
I thought for a moment of leaving the kitchen and taking care of my shoulder. I couldn't let her see that I was hurt after all. Then my stomach chose that moment to growl.
"Hungry, huh?" she smirks.
"A little," I smile back. But my shoulder is beginning to throb with pain again. I start to rise from my seat.
"Let me just get my coffee," she starts.
And I begin at the same time, "I don't know Meryl. I really have to –. " The look on her face makes me falter. Questioning. Amazed. Hurt?
I realize suddenly that this sitting in the kitchen sharing a moment over a box of donuts had become our own private ritual. She nursed a cup of coffee and I went through a box of donuts and we talked of things. Silly things, semi-serious things, random thoughts. It didn't matter what it was. The important thing was *the moment* that we shared. A small window of uninterrupted time (I suspect Milly was always absent on purpose) in both our days. A moment that was ours and ours alone.
And here she was with a box of donuts in front of me, expecting the same as usual.
"What's wrong?"
Suck it up Vash. Pretend there's no pain. For Meryl. "Nothing," I say, shaking my head. "Nothing is wrong at all."
I cannot deny her this. I cannot deny *me* this.
So, smiling foolishly to mask the throbbing in my shoulder I settle myself back down, inhale the scent of eu de donut, and reach for the box.
"Vash! You're bleeding!"
"No I'm not," I say quickly. Damn! Damn, damn, damn! Damn Knives and his psychotic self! Damn those sharp gray eyes! Now Meryl's going to ask why I'm bleeding and she's going to file that report and then I'll have to find *her* some aspirin too (the mayor took the whole bottle home with him). She has beautiful eyes, but why the hell did they have to be so sharp? "I'm not bleeding, Meryl. That's ketchup. And how can you see red on red anyway?"
"Let me see," Meryl says.
"No. Really. It's nothing."
Quicker than I thought was possible, she was at my side, her hand on my shoulder, pressing down hard.
"Ow!" I bolt out of my seat and she jumps backwards quickly.
"You _are_ bleeding! What happened?"
"Really it's nothing. Slight accident."
"Slight accident?" Her eyebrows rise dangerously. "Take off the coat, Vash. Let me see."
"I said it's nothing."
She raised a fist threateningly. "Want a headache to go with your shoulder?"
"No," I grumble.
"Then take off the coat." She turns to look through our supply drawer for Knives and comes up with bandages and gauze. "Take off the shirt too," she adds, almost in afterthought.
"No."
"Vash," she warns.
"You'd just freak out."
"I've seen you half naked before broom-head."
I can't help myself. I raise my eyebrows at her lasciviously. "Why Derringer Meryl, have you been peeping on me when I shower?" Bonk. Ow. "Hey! I'm an injured man!"
"Idiot, you know I've seen all the scars before. Come on, off with the coat and shirt."
If my shoulder wasn't stinging so badly – now aggravated even more by the pain beginning in my head – I might have been enjoying this moment for its rather delicious implications. But as it was, Meryl was starting with the glare and wasn't about to be put off. She held her hand out, fully expecting me to cooperate.
I sighed. "All right, Meryl. But don't say I didn't warn you."
I turn my back on her and take the coat off gingerly. Then still not facing her, I peel my shirt off and she breathes out really, really slowly. I knew it. She was probably trying not to gag. She once said she wouldn't run away from me if she saw me and all the scars, but that didn't mean she had to like it. I start to put the shirt back on.
"No," she says in a strained voice. I wince. I guess I am that bad. Who was I kidding to hope she wouldn't be disgusted at me? "It's – it's okay. You can turn around."
I do as she says and turn to her. "Are you sure?"
She blushes very slightly and nods her head, her eyes focused on the ground instead of my chest. Her voice is so soft, so low. "Yeah. I can't get to your shoulder if you've got the shirt on."
There is uncomfortable silence while I stand there. Thoughts are running through my head. Thoughts too close to my dreams to say out loud. "Now what?" I ask, my voice slightly husky.
Her eyes snap back up at my face and I clear my throat and try again, imagining her angry at me. It works like a charm and my voice returns to normal. "What do you want me to do?"
"Sit down again, of course. You're too tall to reach," she snaps. "Idiot."
I smile, relieved to know she hadn't noticed how my breathing had changed just a little at her closeness.
Her hands are warm and small and gentle against my shoulder. I had expected the warmth and the smallness but not the gentleness. They wiped away the caked blood with care, sweeping over my skin in careful motions. They slid over my skin like fluttering moths as she tried to clean off the smeared blood and I couldn't help but shiver at the sensation.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. It's just that –" You're turning me on. "Nothing. Just fine."
It's not a large wound. The bullet had merely grazed me and the worst of it was the blood and the bruise beginning to purple against my skin. But I heal pretty fast. It'll be gone in a few days.
"Ow," I complain softly as she dabs alcohol liberally against the wound.
"Don't be such a baby," she snorts, but immediately her hands are gentler on my shoulder. The smell of alcohol fills the air, drowning out the smell of donuts for a moment. Then quickly she dabs on something else, cool and soothing. "Local anesthetic. It'll dull the pain."
"Thanks."
Then with practiced hands – Knives had been giving her all that practice after all – she wound the bandage around the cut, strapping it down on my shoulder and tying the ends into a quick little bow.
"All done," she says.
I rotate my shoulder experimentally and was rewarded with another bonk on the head.
"Ow! Meryl! Can't you stop hitting me for just one moment?"
"Don't keep moving it! You'll stop it from healing!"
I was about to retort that I healed fast, that I wasn't human after all, etc. etc. etc. But she laid a hand on my shoulder, tracing out one my older scars and savagely says, "You don't want it to turn out like this, do you?"
Inwardly I sigh. Perhaps she was disgusted after all. "I guess not," I reply.
She murmured something then, just beneath her breath.
I look up at her face questioningly but she isn't paying attention anymore. Unconsciously, she traces an idle pattern over and over on the scar, slow and gentle motions. Almost a caress. Part of me hopes she will stop soon so I can eat a donut. But another part of me is relieved at her touch, relieved that she isn't disgusted with my scars. I really should put a shirt on. But the one I discarded was bloody and I really didn't want to interrupt Meryl's thoughts.
The only problem is that I'm still getting aroused by the touching. Her hand is so soft and she's so close and she smells so damn good. The alcohol smell has dissipated and I can smell her shampoo and the soap she used, like herbs and flowers combined and a hint of donut. I can feel the slight heat of her body so close to me and a responding tremor of heat moving in mine. I have to do something. Before I do something else that we both might regret. And before she notices that I'm not standing up for a _very_ good reason.
"Meryl?"
"Hmm?"
"Can you stop what you're doing?"
Her hands spring away from my shoulder followed by her whole body and suddenly I feel a deep ache of loss in my gut. My shoulder seems suddenly cold. "Sorry," she mumbles.
"It's okay. It's just - "
"What?" she breathes out and looks at me expectantly.
"The donuts are getting cold."
For a moment she stares at me and then she laughs and shakes her head. "You're okay, alright," she says and walks back to the other side of the table to get her coffee and sit. I laugh with her, enjoying her company, inwardly beating myself up for not being brave enough to just confess to her that I want her and need her.
"So what did you do today?" I ask casually to start us off on our daily ritual.
"Some fool robbed a bank."
"Oh?" I say, trying to sound uninterested.
"Yeah. Luckily it isn't my assignment," she continues.
Oh good, I think. "So that was your excitement for the day?"
"I wish," she says. "There was this thing with the insurance company. Someone sent a letter and it turns out that the boss. . ."
I listen to her chattering, not really caring what Bernadelli was doing or what her boss was doing. The only thing that mattered was her. The lilt and cadence of her voice. The way she used her hands to emphasize a point, almost capsizing her coffee cup. The changing expressions on her face. Happily, I eat donuts and listen, nodding from time to time and making noises to show that I approved or disapproved or agreed or disagreed.
I sit there devouring donuts until I realize that Meryl is no longer talking. I stop nodding my head and look up at her face and am shocked at what I see in her eyes: Hunger. Deep, intense hunger. Directed at me. What the – ? I feel sorry immediately. Here I was busy consuming donuts and I hadn't even offered her one. I mean, she was the one working full time – okay so I help by playing "bodyguard" to various self inflated people but it's not such a steady job – and she's just come home to an injured man and took care of that and she probably still had a million reports to file and here I was just nodding away and gorging. Damn it, Vash! Why are you so insensitive? No wonder she hates you! I stop eating and tentatively ask, "Meryl?"
She jumps as if I've just pulled a gun on her. "What?" she says sharply.
"Do you want a donut?"
She frowns. "Why the hell do you say that?"
"It's just that you look hungry for a second there. As if you were staring at a big donut," I tease.
She chokes on the coffee she is about to sip, almost spraying it across the table. I cover the donuts protectively.
"I – uh – I – " she stammers and her face suffuses with blood. Uh-oh.
"Yes?" I ask, my hand on the way to reaching for a donut. Sugared. Maybe she would like sugared. She's always refused before but maybe she'll take one this time. "Want a sugared donut?" I wave the sugared donut in front of her and smile my most charming (I think it's charming!) smile.
But the smile doesn't seem to work. Her eyes only start to look panicked. Okay, not sugared. "Sprinkles? The bear claw? Apple cinnamon? Glazed?" I'm starting to worry. "Meryl? Is something –"
"I'm late for work," she shrieks and in a whirl of white she is running out the door.
I stare after her in dumbfounded amazement. Late for work? She just got home! And panicked? What the hell?
I stare after her for a moment before I pop another donut into my mouth.
Women.
I, Vash the Stampede, magnificent outlaw, great lover (*cough, cough*), searcher for the elusive mayfly known as love and peace, will never, ever, ever, ever. . .understand women.
A/N: *grin*
Author's Notes: *Singing off key to the tune of Pop goes the Weasel* "There....once was a girl who procrastinated, procrastinated, procrastinated. There once was a girl who procrastinated, and now her life is so screwed." So for your enjoyment, the results of my procrastination, and the cause of my life being so screwed. *scurries off to watch anime, er, write paper. I meant write paper. Really! I did!* Brief notes follow.
Roganu-chan: As promised, a bit of fluff; soft as down on a duck, cushiony as a blanket straight from the dryer, plump as a donut just baked. Enjoy! (Hahahaha! The author is soooooo unpoetic!)
krazyMaze: Nope! No naughty dreams in this one. Just naughty thoughts. *Hey, I said I was demented not non-perverted!*
FaeofLight: "Fanfic god" huh? *blushes* Oh, I really love you as a reviewer now! Hehehe! Enjoy!
theoldfart: Interesting name! Uh...thanks for reading! And here's some more reading!
S-chan The Great: *taking butterknife* I've been looking for that! I was trying to spread peanut butter but it doesn't work well with just your fingers. Er, yeah. And now, let me end the note in a traditional way. . .Noooooo! Not another threat! *gasp* I don't know how much more I can take!
julianne athae: You too? Okay, guys. Really. Don't get god mad. I'm not him. For one thing, I don't glow in the dark.
Abby-chantheblackcat: Ummm...I really don't know what to say. Thanks? I guess? Okay. Bye now.
Arafel: *grin* You like Grandma, huh? Well, I like her too. As to Knives. . .well, you'll see.
I hope I didn't miss anyone! And now. . . *pause for dramatic effect; drumroll offstage*. . . the fanfiction.
Chapter 7
Despite the knowledge that Knives will never be a danger to anyone ever again (Can you imagine that? Die worthless hu – . . .Zzzzzzzz. Doc says he'll be like that now from now on, falling asleep "at the drop of a hat") these light bantering moments (Insert dry ironic laughter) still tire me out. No wonder Meryl glares so much. It's probably the way she deals with it. Well, there won't be anybody to glare at when he wakes up and finds his food cold. Oh well.
Damn. My shoulder still hurts. Today had been a tiring day. First the bank and the mayor and the extended assignment with Grandma Mary Sue and then Knives. Whew! It was enough to test anyone's strength. Hey, I may not be human but I can still get tired! And hungry. Too hungry, in fact to even think about anything else but donuts. I really should take care of this shoulder before the fabric gets stuck to me. But I'm so damn tired. And hungry. Wait. I said that already. Just sit down at the kitchen a moment to think.
I put my head in my hands, lean against the table, and close my eyes. Just a second to rest. . . .
"I'm home," Meryl calls loudly before her body comes into view. My head snaps up. Did I drop off to sleep? Hmph. I guess Knives is contagious. (Again, insert dry ironic laughter) She leans against the doorframe and frowns at me. "What's the matter with you? You look like that cat dragged you back and forth in the street before spitting up on you," she says cheerily while pointing at the windowsill. The black cat blinked sleepy green eyes at her.
"That was mean!" I whine.
"Sorry," she mumbles contritely. "Couldn't help it. Tradition. Here." The box of donuts lands with a thud in front of me. "They couldn't sell them. Like usual."
I thought for a moment of leaving the kitchen and taking care of my shoulder. I couldn't let her see that I was hurt after all. Then my stomach chose that moment to growl.
"Hungry, huh?" she smirks.
"A little," I smile back. But my shoulder is beginning to throb with pain again. I start to rise from my seat.
"Let me just get my coffee," she starts.
And I begin at the same time, "I don't know Meryl. I really have to –. " The look on her face makes me falter. Questioning. Amazed. Hurt?
I realize suddenly that this sitting in the kitchen sharing a moment over a box of donuts had become our own private ritual. She nursed a cup of coffee and I went through a box of donuts and we talked of things. Silly things, semi-serious things, random thoughts. It didn't matter what it was. The important thing was *the moment* that we shared. A small window of uninterrupted time (I suspect Milly was always absent on purpose) in both our days. A moment that was ours and ours alone.
And here she was with a box of donuts in front of me, expecting the same as usual.
"What's wrong?"
Suck it up Vash. Pretend there's no pain. For Meryl. "Nothing," I say, shaking my head. "Nothing is wrong at all."
I cannot deny her this. I cannot deny *me* this.
So, smiling foolishly to mask the throbbing in my shoulder I settle myself back down, inhale the scent of eu de donut, and reach for the box.
"Vash! You're bleeding!"
"No I'm not," I say quickly. Damn! Damn, damn, damn! Damn Knives and his psychotic self! Damn those sharp gray eyes! Now Meryl's going to ask why I'm bleeding and she's going to file that report and then I'll have to find *her* some aspirin too (the mayor took the whole bottle home with him). She has beautiful eyes, but why the hell did they have to be so sharp? "I'm not bleeding, Meryl. That's ketchup. And how can you see red on red anyway?"
"Let me see," Meryl says.
"No. Really. It's nothing."
Quicker than I thought was possible, she was at my side, her hand on my shoulder, pressing down hard.
"Ow!" I bolt out of my seat and she jumps backwards quickly.
"You _are_ bleeding! What happened?"
"Really it's nothing. Slight accident."
"Slight accident?" Her eyebrows rise dangerously. "Take off the coat, Vash. Let me see."
"I said it's nothing."
She raised a fist threateningly. "Want a headache to go with your shoulder?"
"No," I grumble.
"Then take off the coat." She turns to look through our supply drawer for Knives and comes up with bandages and gauze. "Take off the shirt too," she adds, almost in afterthought.
"No."
"Vash," she warns.
"You'd just freak out."
"I've seen you half naked before broom-head."
I can't help myself. I raise my eyebrows at her lasciviously. "Why Derringer Meryl, have you been peeping on me when I shower?" Bonk. Ow. "Hey! I'm an injured man!"
"Idiot, you know I've seen all the scars before. Come on, off with the coat and shirt."
If my shoulder wasn't stinging so badly – now aggravated even more by the pain beginning in my head – I might have been enjoying this moment for its rather delicious implications. But as it was, Meryl was starting with the glare and wasn't about to be put off. She held her hand out, fully expecting me to cooperate.
I sighed. "All right, Meryl. But don't say I didn't warn you."
I turn my back on her and take the coat off gingerly. Then still not facing her, I peel my shirt off and she breathes out really, really slowly. I knew it. She was probably trying not to gag. She once said she wouldn't run away from me if she saw me and all the scars, but that didn't mean she had to like it. I start to put the shirt back on.
"No," she says in a strained voice. I wince. I guess I am that bad. Who was I kidding to hope she wouldn't be disgusted at me? "It's – it's okay. You can turn around."
I do as she says and turn to her. "Are you sure?"
She blushes very slightly and nods her head, her eyes focused on the ground instead of my chest. Her voice is so soft, so low. "Yeah. I can't get to your shoulder if you've got the shirt on."
There is uncomfortable silence while I stand there. Thoughts are running through my head. Thoughts too close to my dreams to say out loud. "Now what?" I ask, my voice slightly husky.
Her eyes snap back up at my face and I clear my throat and try again, imagining her angry at me. It works like a charm and my voice returns to normal. "What do you want me to do?"
"Sit down again, of course. You're too tall to reach," she snaps. "Idiot."
I smile, relieved to know she hadn't noticed how my breathing had changed just a little at her closeness.
Her hands are warm and small and gentle against my shoulder. I had expected the warmth and the smallness but not the gentleness. They wiped away the caked blood with care, sweeping over my skin in careful motions. They slid over my skin like fluttering moths as she tried to clean off the smeared blood and I couldn't help but shiver at the sensation.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. It's just that –" You're turning me on. "Nothing. Just fine."
It's not a large wound. The bullet had merely grazed me and the worst of it was the blood and the bruise beginning to purple against my skin. But I heal pretty fast. It'll be gone in a few days.
"Ow," I complain softly as she dabs alcohol liberally against the wound.
"Don't be such a baby," she snorts, but immediately her hands are gentler on my shoulder. The smell of alcohol fills the air, drowning out the smell of donuts for a moment. Then quickly she dabs on something else, cool and soothing. "Local anesthetic. It'll dull the pain."
"Thanks."
Then with practiced hands – Knives had been giving her all that practice after all – she wound the bandage around the cut, strapping it down on my shoulder and tying the ends into a quick little bow.
"All done," she says.
I rotate my shoulder experimentally and was rewarded with another bonk on the head.
"Ow! Meryl! Can't you stop hitting me for just one moment?"
"Don't keep moving it! You'll stop it from healing!"
I was about to retort that I healed fast, that I wasn't human after all, etc. etc. etc. But she laid a hand on my shoulder, tracing out one my older scars and savagely says, "You don't want it to turn out like this, do you?"
Inwardly I sigh. Perhaps she was disgusted after all. "I guess not," I reply.
She murmured something then, just beneath her breath.
I look up at her face questioningly but she isn't paying attention anymore. Unconsciously, she traces an idle pattern over and over on the scar, slow and gentle motions. Almost a caress. Part of me hopes she will stop soon so I can eat a donut. But another part of me is relieved at her touch, relieved that she isn't disgusted with my scars. I really should put a shirt on. But the one I discarded was bloody and I really didn't want to interrupt Meryl's thoughts.
The only problem is that I'm still getting aroused by the touching. Her hand is so soft and she's so close and she smells so damn good. The alcohol smell has dissipated and I can smell her shampoo and the soap she used, like herbs and flowers combined and a hint of donut. I can feel the slight heat of her body so close to me and a responding tremor of heat moving in mine. I have to do something. Before I do something else that we both might regret. And before she notices that I'm not standing up for a _very_ good reason.
"Meryl?"
"Hmm?"
"Can you stop what you're doing?"
Her hands spring away from my shoulder followed by her whole body and suddenly I feel a deep ache of loss in my gut. My shoulder seems suddenly cold. "Sorry," she mumbles.
"It's okay. It's just - "
"What?" she breathes out and looks at me expectantly.
"The donuts are getting cold."
For a moment she stares at me and then she laughs and shakes her head. "You're okay, alright," she says and walks back to the other side of the table to get her coffee and sit. I laugh with her, enjoying her company, inwardly beating myself up for not being brave enough to just confess to her that I want her and need her.
"So what did you do today?" I ask casually to start us off on our daily ritual.
"Some fool robbed a bank."
"Oh?" I say, trying to sound uninterested.
"Yeah. Luckily it isn't my assignment," she continues.
Oh good, I think. "So that was your excitement for the day?"
"I wish," she says. "There was this thing with the insurance company. Someone sent a letter and it turns out that the boss. . ."
I listen to her chattering, not really caring what Bernadelli was doing or what her boss was doing. The only thing that mattered was her. The lilt and cadence of her voice. The way she used her hands to emphasize a point, almost capsizing her coffee cup. The changing expressions on her face. Happily, I eat donuts and listen, nodding from time to time and making noises to show that I approved or disapproved or agreed or disagreed.
I sit there devouring donuts until I realize that Meryl is no longer talking. I stop nodding my head and look up at her face and am shocked at what I see in her eyes: Hunger. Deep, intense hunger. Directed at me. What the – ? I feel sorry immediately. Here I was busy consuming donuts and I hadn't even offered her one. I mean, she was the one working full time – okay so I help by playing "bodyguard" to various self inflated people but it's not such a steady job – and she's just come home to an injured man and took care of that and she probably still had a million reports to file and here I was just nodding away and gorging. Damn it, Vash! Why are you so insensitive? No wonder she hates you! I stop eating and tentatively ask, "Meryl?"
She jumps as if I've just pulled a gun on her. "What?" she says sharply.
"Do you want a donut?"
She frowns. "Why the hell do you say that?"
"It's just that you look hungry for a second there. As if you were staring at a big donut," I tease.
She chokes on the coffee she is about to sip, almost spraying it across the table. I cover the donuts protectively.
"I – uh – I – " she stammers and her face suffuses with blood. Uh-oh.
"Yes?" I ask, my hand on the way to reaching for a donut. Sugared. Maybe she would like sugared. She's always refused before but maybe she'll take one this time. "Want a sugared donut?" I wave the sugared donut in front of her and smile my most charming (I think it's charming!) smile.
But the smile doesn't seem to work. Her eyes only start to look panicked. Okay, not sugared. "Sprinkles? The bear claw? Apple cinnamon? Glazed?" I'm starting to worry. "Meryl? Is something –"
"I'm late for work," she shrieks and in a whirl of white she is running out the door.
I stare after her in dumbfounded amazement. Late for work? She just got home! And panicked? What the hell?
I stare after her for a moment before I pop another donut into my mouth.
Women.
I, Vash the Stampede, magnificent outlaw, great lover (*cough, cough*), searcher for the elusive mayfly known as love and peace, will never, ever, ever, ever. . .understand women.
A/N: *grin*