A/N:It took awhile to update, I know. I got into an accident in Chemistry class that sliced my hand up pretty bad. I couldn't type for a couple of days, and then I had a brain freeze. As an apology, here's "Sacrifices, pt. 1" and it's a full five pages long! (pitiful, I know :)

Just some words to my reviewers: Pailay, hun, you and Leviathon's Son are my best reviewers. You've both reviewed 6 out of 7 chapters. Thanks guys! "Wanted" would have guttered and died without you two, so I owe you alot.
Aine of Knockaine: I've just finished "Forever Mine". o.O I was up until 3 in the morning finishing it and was COMPLETELY emotional by chapter 35 (of course, that might have been the product of 36 hours without sleep). It was so wonderful--one of the best in in my opinion. It's on my favorite stories list. Thanks for reviewing--it meant alot to me.
Marie Ward: You've been another great reviewer. Your comments really kept me going. Puppiish, Parrhasis, Saraki, SBcowgirlunkie, Ashari, ibogal, EmpressGalaxia, Shattrdheart, Peridot 3783, Tokimaster, and LilySama--I can't thank you all enough. Please review again :)

Meryl was spinning idly in one of the computer chairs. She watched the room flash by: Door, computers, wall, wall, more computers, door, Vash. She dragged a foot along the floor, slowly stopping the chair. So why does the room still seem like it's spinning, she wondered, clutching at her nauseous stomach. "What do you want?" She asked Vash.

"I'm bored." Whined Vash.

Meryl rolled her eyes. "And?"

"I thought we could talk."

"About what?"

"About how we're getting out of here."

Meryl had thought about "getting out of here" since they had arrived, and their prospects looked grim. Their water was supplied by the plant, but they were quickly running out of food. Together, they only had a few meager double dollars left; not enough to last them more than a day or two, and certainly not enough to buy them a ticket on the sand steamer that was due in less than a month. The thomas was still hanging in there, though it hadn't eaten for days. She was bound and determined to return the beast to Mr. Harris someday: no reason in adding thievery to her sins.

"What do you suggest," she asked warily.

Vash blinked back at her. "I don't know. I thought for sure you'd have a plan."

Meryl sighed and rose, brushing imaginary dust from her skirt. She was halfway to the door, when Vash's voice drifted from behind her.

"Hey, where're you going?"

"On a walk," she mumbled.

The brightly lit, abandoned halls of the lab were eery, reflected Meryl, not for the first time. There was something about the place that gave her the chills. She walked briskly through the labyrinth, the smart click of her heels rebounding in the broad space. She twisted around, glancing over her shoulder. For a moment, it had sounded like someone was following her, but it must have been her echo.

Meryl halted, trying to get her bearings. She didn't think she'd been this way before, but it was hard to tell: all the hallways were identical. She took a left, then a hard right and found herself in familiar settings: she was back in the hallway that led to the cave. She paused. This was the first time she'd been here since she and Vash had found the lab. The thomas was still up in the cave, Meryl remembered with a twinge of guilt. It could stay alive for awhile yet, but she did feel sorry for it. She hoped it hadn't headed blindly into the desert.

Just as Meryl was ready to head back to the computer room and Vash, she froze. Was she imagining things? Couldn't be...she thought. She waited patiently, not moving, hardly breathing. A minute became five minutes, which quickly turned into fifteen, and Meryl's muscles began to tense from their rigid, unmoving positions. Still the silence stretched on. Finally, Meryl allowed herself to relax. I'm just stressed. It's the product of a wired mind, she thought. She took one step, then heard it again. Voices. Her heart began to pound painfully in her chest, and she walked slowly, quietly, to the entrance to the cave, carefully remaining out of sight.

There was gruff laughter, the loud clank of heavy feet on the staircase. Then she heard it: the hoarse, low, insidious voice that could only belong to John Rot.

"She's here boys. We've got her cornered. That bitch'll pay for what she did to Red Jenkins."

They were still a ways away, but drawing nearer by the minute. She could hear, now, someone mutter: "...make her pay." More voices joined in, until it became a chant. "Make her pay, make her pay, make her pay!"

Meryl pushed off from the wall, stumbling into the hallway. She made her way as quickly as she could to the Plant room, pushed through the door. She needed to find Vash. She clambered down the ladder, heedless to caution, and ran across the vast room.

"Vash!" She hissed, jogging through the catacombs, throwing doors open. "Vash?"

"What?" Said a familiar voice behind her. She turned around, panicky. Vash's eyebrows were knit in concern. "What?" He repeated pressingly.

"They're here." She whispered.

"Who's here?" He asked, his voice harder, more urgent.

"The Desperados."

Vash's eyes widened. If she weren't sick with fear, Meryl would have laughed. He looked like a little boy, hair sticking in every direction, lips slightly parted. "What!"

"Shh!" She hissed, grabbing his arm. "The Desperados are in the cave. They must have found the back door."

"How far away do you think they are?"

"I don't know. Ten minutes, maybe?"

Vash began to pull her down a passageway that eventually led to Fest.

"What are you doing?" Meryl asked, planting her feet, refusing to go further.

Vash's previous good humor was melting away. She could see his brow furrow, his lips tighten into a bloodless line. There was a coldness in his eyes that she'd never seen before, but she recognized it all the same. This was Vash the Stampede. The humanoid typhoon. The outlaw.

"We're leaving," he said. His voice was calm, but firm, and Meryl thought she could detect the trace of a threat beneath them. Meryl felt her blood begin to boil. She wrenched herself from Vash's grasp.

"Don't you dare tell me what to do." She said hotly. She raised her gaze to meet his own, challenging him. Meryl knew it was rash to play chicken with a known criminal, but she didn't give a damn. She was dangerous too.

Without warning, Vash lifted her from the ground and continued down the passageway. A few feet down, surprise wore out and anger set in. Meryl thrashed violently. "Who the hell do you think you are?" She spat.

Vash didn't answer and Meryl twisted in his arms, slamming the heel of her palm into his sternum. Startled, Vash dropped her and she picked herself off the floor, face glowing.

The gunman took a step forward, but Meryl scrambled back, pointing a forefinger at him in silent warning. "Don't touch me," she panted.

"Please, Meryl!" Vash begged, and the small insurance girl was taken aback by the desperation in his voice.

"What do you want, Vash? To leave, huh? So we can be stalked the rest of our lives?" She shook her head. "I can't do this anymore. I'm making my stand, here, today. You don't have to–this is my battle."

There was a clamor as the Desperados reached the back door to the lab. An awed murmue rippled through the gang. Meryl turned and raced to the plant room, Vash at her heels. When she had reached plant's holding sphere, he gripped her shoulder from behind. "Please reconsider." He said softly.

Meryl didn't deign to look back at him when she replied. "What about the plant? If we leave now, they'll find her. There's no telling what they'd do to her. She could die."

She could tell her words were having the desired effect. Vash couldn't leave now–not with a life on the line.

"There's no way to save everyone today. Someone is going to die," Vash said, his voice pained.

"You're a legendary gunman for God's sake! Why are you always running away?" She yelled, turning to face him.

"I can't take a life," he said, frustrated. "She wouldn't like it."

"She"? Meryl wondered. She shook her head, forcing herself to let it go. There were more demanding issues at hand.

"I promise I won't aim to kill," she said quietly.

"Are you stupid!" Vash fairly roared. "This far below ground, they'd bleed to death before a doctor could reach them!"

Meryl didn't know how to reply. If she left, John Rot would kill the plant. If she stayed and didn't fight, the Desperados would kill her and the plant. If she stayed and fought, she would kill some of the gangsters and they would kill her and the plant. The outcomes were bleak.

"Is there any way at all to get the plant out of there?" She asked, waving at the sphere.

"Maybe–with a month's worth of research."

"We don't have a month," said Meryl tersely. There would be a massacre today, she was sure. Unless...yes, there was a way. Her stomach flipped at the thought. She didn't like it, but it would save everybody. Well, almost everybody. Meryl took her gun from the holster, checked it.

"What are you doing?" Asked Vash.

Meryl was silent. She crossed the room and climbed the ladder. As she reached the catwalk, Vash suddenly became animated again. He started after her.

Meryl cocked the gun and aimed it at the Stampede's chest. "Don't," she advised. "I won't even think twice." The threat was completely hollow, but she was pleased that she'd managed to keep her voice steady. Vash obviously believed her, because he stopped and looked at her in bewilderment.

Moving swiftly, Meryl laid her firearm on the catwalk–she wouldn't need it–and edged the door open to face the Desperados.

John Rot was at a loss. There were more doors than he'd expected. The little brat could be anywhere. The Desperados could sense his indecision. They'd begun to shuffle impatiently. They wanted action; he needed to do something.

Suddenly there was movement ahead of them. The door edged open, and there was the girl. That waitress. Meryl.

The girl looked up, shock registering on her features. She took a step back, but it was too late.

"Well, well, well," said Rot, hiding his relief. He smiled wickedly. "Look who's here, boys."

The gang began to holler and stamp. Rot's grin widened at their enthusiasm. Rot raised his gun, pointed it at the waitress. The girl's mouth opened slightly in fear. She was trembling.

Something was nagging him, though. There was something wrong here that he couldn't quite put his finger on. It was her eyes, he realized. They showed no fear. No fear at all. Oh, well, thought Rot, taking careful aim. His finger tightened on the trigger.

A gunshot suddenly shattered the silence.