A/N: Good news everyone! My Trigun FINALLY came in! See, it's been a year since I last saw Trigun and I was working from memory before now. Some of you noticed slip-ups in the storyline--like how Meryl knew Vash was a plant. Hopefully there will be no more of those.
Iactually have Pailay to thank for this chapter. I was kind of at a loss until I read her review; then I was like..."hey, that's not a bad idea." So, kudos to you, Pailay!

Creature of the Night and Cywellen: Thanks for the reviews! It's so nice to feel loved... :)
ibogal: I was so flattered by your review that I decided to work on a new chapter instead of pay attention in Chemistry. (Who needs Chem anyway?) Thank you SO much.
Angel: heh, yeah. You're right: Meryl wasn't supposed to know Vash was a plant. That was completely my mistake.
Peridot3783: My hand's pretty much healed by now (finally) and I wanted to say thanks for being a regular reviewer. I'm not very self-motivated, and I'd be updating once a month w/o you.
Aine of Knockaine: Once again, thanks for taking the time to review! I'm so in awe of your talent...o.o
Pailay: I really owe you a debt of gratitude for your review. It sparked the idea for this chapter. Also,and this isFAIRLY IMPORTANT: you asked "But why would the gang members bother killing a Plant? Plant life (har har) and rights aside, it'd be like walking into a power plant and plugging a generator for no apparent reason." Excellent question! Here are three possible answers: 1.) Because John Rot and his goons are deranged, loopy SOBs who get their ya-yas out by plugging generators; 2.) Because plugging generators is alot funner than it sounds and we should all try it more often; and 3.) Because Rot might not be planning on shooting the plant so much as exhausting her powers to line his own pocket without regards to her health and welfare.

Thanks for taking time to review--it means alot to me, and it's more useful than I imagined! I'm not above taking advice :P Y'all are keeping me on my toes...

Vash stood rooted to the spot. He could feel the gears of his brain whirring, but he couldn't make any sense of the situation. Did Meryl just threaten him? Yes, and he was sure she'd meant it, too. The conviction in her voice, that flash in her eyes, were enough to convince him that she would have shot him in an instant.

It wasn't fear that had frozen him in his tracks; it was shock. There was a sudden commotion in the entranceway and Vash shook himself. What the hell was she thinking? Vash cursed quietly, crossing the room in a few quick strides. He was reaching for the ladder bolted to the catwalk when the deafening crack of a fired pistol exploded in the unnatural silence, echoing like thunder in the lab. Vash's heart leapt to his throat and his hand tightened around the metal rung until his knuckles were white and bloodless. Heart pounding in his ears, he vaulted into action, shinnying up the ladder and onto the catwalk. Then he saw the glint of Meryl's firearm where she had left it.

She hadn't fired the shot. "There's no way to save everyone. Someone is going to die today."

A cold fear gripped at the gunman, numbing his senses. His brow creased and he set his jaw. With a snarl, Vash threw open the door and stepped inside the entryway in a single fluid motion, clearing the room and pointing his gun at...no one. They were gone.

"Dammit!" Vash wailed, spinning around in a crazed semicircle. A splash of color caught his eye and he leaned in closer for a better look. Blood. A small spray of blood tainted the otherwise pristine white walls.

He looked around wildly, but the hallway was as empty as he thought it was. "No body. They took the body," Vash muttered thickly. "Why'd they take the body. Why–why..."

He knew the answer to the puzzle could be found if he sat down and thought it through; but somehow he couldn't get his mind to focus. The normally sharp concentration of his brain felt unnaturally fuzzy.

"Dammit," he whispered again. There was a painful lump in his throat and it hurt to speak.

Then it clicked. Meryl was alive.

What was it Meryl had said to him, about the night she ran away? His mind pulled at the fragment of a conversation they had shared weeks ago:

Meryl was lost in the recesses of her mind again. She was sitting, staring–not at the wall, but through it. Vash said her name softly, but she didn't respond.

"Hey Insurance girl!" He said sharply. That was guaranteed to get a reaction out of her. Meryl turned her stormy eyes on him threateningly.

"What was that?"

"Uh...I mean, Ö merciful and divine Majesty."

"Better."

"What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking of how annoying you can be. Why don't you go bug the plant?"

"No, I mean before. What were you thinking of?"

Aware that Vash wouldn't let it go, Meryl gave a resigned sigh. "I was thinking about the night I killed Red Jenkins."

Vash cringed at her cavalier attitude, though he knew it was a front. "Yeah?" He prompted.

Meryl looked at him with even measures of curiosity and distrust. "Why do you care?"

Vash searched for a reason. He knew that carrying this around on her conscience was slowly eating her up inside. He didn't think she'd take it well if he suggested she might need help, however. She didn't strike him as the dependent type. "It might be important." He said lamely.

Meryl didn't say anything for a long time. A very long time. Vash was trying to think of a way to tactfully bring up the subject again when she spoke.

"I shot him. I didn't have a reason to, Vash." Tears were welling in her eyes and she wiped them away fiercely. To cry was to show weakness. Meryl Stryfe did not cry.

Vash couldn't find any words to comfort her with, and he hated himself for it. Instead he waited.

"You should have seen their faces. It was horrible. That uncomprehending look in their eyes. I don't care if he was a bastard; he didn't deserve to die, Vash!" She said, her voice strangled.

"What did they do?" Vash asked gently.

Meryl flinched at the memory. "They were going to shoot at first. If they had, I'd be dead. I should be dead. Then Rot stopped them."

"Rot–John Rot!" Vash stammered bluntly. From what she'd told him, Rot was the last person Vash would expect mercy from.

"Yeah. He said–he said 'let's have a little fun first.'"

Vash jolted out of his reverie, a sick feeling twisting in his gut. So that was why they hadn't killed her yet. They were going to make her pay–nice and slow. Vash spun to face the exit into the cave, preparing himself to face the gangsters. Then he stopped. He couldn't be rash about this. Rashness would get them both killed. The Desperados had left through the cave, he was sure. They had what they wanted, and they didn't know about the other exits. He couldn't confront them now. They were still too far below ground, dammit. He didn't want to risk any deaths–and Rot would be sure to kill Meryl if he thought Vash was trying to rescue her. Besides there was something else nagging at him. Meryl had gone in unarmed–she didn't want a battle. She had wanted a way to save them all. The only way she could do that was by sacrificing herself.

Meryl had guessed that once they had what they wanted, the men would leave. They had no reason to stick around in some God-forsaken underground cavern after all. They didn't know about Vash. By laying down her life, she was allowing Vash to live. He didn't want to make her sacrifice a vain one by rushing out half-cocked and getting shot.

"John Rot." Vash said the name like he might have said a swear word. Then he turned from the door. He knew where they were headed: October. He'd be waiting.

It was a haggard but pleased band of Desperados that returned to the Warehouse at sunset. The desolate warehouse in October had been their residence since they "moved" into the city. Cots, sleeping bags, and drained bottles of beer cluttered the floor.

"The boys" were buzzing with excitement over their victory. As well they should, reflected Rot smugly. They had been searching for the damned girl for two months. There was a grunt of pain as Sid threw the waitress to the ground, and Rot laughed. He had made sure that the bullet would bury itself deep in Meryl's shoulder–it was painful, but nonlethal. The Desperados' thirst for revenge had festered and increased during their painstaking hunt. Now they didn't want to merely kill the girl: they wanted to torture her to death.

"Let this serve as an example of what happens to those who cross the Desperados," he said disdainfully, kicking her violently in her wounded side.

The girl bit her lip until it bled, not giving him the satisfaction of a moan. Her breath came quick and shallow as she forced herself into a sitting position, bracing her back against the concrete wall. Rot, frustrated by her non-responsiveness, gave her another kick, smiling as she groaned. Her eyelashes fluttered as she tried to stay conscious and lost the battle.

"Sleep well, boys," Rot said, facing the gang. "Tomorrow, she'll pay. She will pay."

Vash was perched on a loft, hidden behind two boxes of long-forgotten cargo from when the warehouse was still in use. Getting to October had been simple. Finding the hangout of the Desperados had been considerably more difficult. Vash had tried pressing bartenders, waiters–even the mayor–for information. No one seemed to know much of anything about them, and those who did know something didn't want to talk about it. Vash had finally threatened the Sheriff to squeeze out the location of their hangout. He had never intended to act on his threat, but it had gotten the job done.

Now Vash was sitting, cramped, in the shadows of the rafters. His back was bent into an unhealthy U-shape and he was losing the feeling in his legs, but these were the least of his concerns. He watched with restrained silence as the Desperados crowded and shoved through the narrow door, tumbling in almost drunkenly. Vash waited with a growing sense of unease as well-muscled men continued to swarm into the old warehouse. Meryl was nowhere to be seen.

Maybe they had killed her on the way up. Maybe she had bled to death. Vash waited with waning hope, until a thick, stout tanling trickled in behind the others, a small inert form slung over his shoulder. Vash winced as the man dropped Meryl to the ground roughly. He could hear crude laughter, and watched as a lean, sinister-looking man approached her. He said something in a voice made husky by too much tobacco; Vash couldn't quite make out the words. Without warning, the man lashed out at the insurance girl, catching her in the shoulder. He could see her muscles tense in response. Meryl remained still for a few minutes–just long enough to make Vash nervous–then forced herself to sit up against the wall. Rot kicked her again, and this time he could hear a sharp intake of pain. This must be John Rot, Vash thought to himself.

Vash heard Rot's sickly voice again and strained to listen to the words... "Tomorrow, she'll pay. She will pay."

Vash hadn't moved throughout the exchange. He remained as still and taciturn as a gargoyle, waiting, waiting...

Patience is the key here, he told himself. Patience means everything.

Rot awoke disconcerted. He hadn't been in the Warehouses for many weeks. Instead, he and the majority of the Desperados had been hiking through the desert, blistering hot in the daytime and frigidly cold at night. They hadn't been able to follow her before the storm, and the time they'd lost while waiting out the tempest had covered her tracks completely. It was by sheer luck and persistence that, two months later, they'd found a thomas wandering aimlessly in the desert and had followed its tracks to the small cave. It was over now, though. They had the girl.

Rot pushed himself up from the dingy, stained cot where he'd fallen asleep and picked his way across slumbering men to the girl. She was still there. Her lovely face was screwed into an expression of pain, and her normally glossy black hair fell, limp with perspiration, across her tightly-closed eyes.

"You awake, girl?" No response.

"Hey!" Rot said gruffly, leaning in "I said–". Suddenly the girl butted her head forward, catching him in the forehead. There was a crack as their skulls met, and Rot fell backward.

"I heard what you said, asshole," she seethed. Her teeth were clenched in pain from the movement, however, and perspiration beaded her brow.

"Bitch! What did you call me?" He spluttered, shaking with ill-contained rage. He tore his gun from its holster, clicked the safety off and shoved the muzzle beneath her chin.

"Asshole," Meryl panted, her steel-colored eyes holding his own in a staring contest.

Rot was feeling uncertain again; this was not how a terrified prisoner should behave. She acted as though she was the one in control of the situation.

Rot returned the gun to his holster. "There's no way you're getting off that easily. Your death will be a slow, painful one. We'll flay the skin off your bones; cut your fingers off one by one." His talk was empty now. He was trying his damnedest to frighten her. "Then we'll hunt down your family, your friends." Finally, something akin to horror flickered across her face. It was gone in a second, but Rot had seen it. He laughed harshly. "Don't like that, do you?"

"Rise and shine, boys!" He called gleefully to the Desperados. Most were already awake, jarred from their sleep by Rot's explosion. They crowded around, jostling, shoving and cussing. In seconds the warehouse was transformed from sleepy quiet to belligerent racket.

"You want revenge?" Roared Rot.

"Yeah!" Came the collective answer.

"Alright then," Rot said, reaching for his knife. Something blurred past in his peripheral vision and he turned just in time to see a slender, red-clad man land, catlike, on the dirt floor. An eery quiet descended over the gathering as the young man stood gracefully, long trench coat rustling. No one dared breathe a word.

The man's hair glintedlikespun gold in the early morning light. The sunlight flashed off yellow sunglasses, making them glow like burnished topaz. His features were set, hard and cold.

"Who the hell are you?" Rot asked, finding his voice. But he'd already guessed the answer.

The blond slowly took off the glasses and raised his eyes to meet Rot's gaze. Rot felt a momentary seize of panic: his aqua eyes looked icy and predatory.

"My name is Vash the Stampede." He said in a low, quiet voice that immediately harnessed the attention of every man there.

Rot licked his lips nervously. He'd heard legends about this man–legends that surely couldn't be true. There were stories how he had destroyed July in a single night. Turned it into a hell on earth. If he was coming to join the Desperados, they'd never had a bigger break. And yet, at the same time, $$60 billion double dollars was just an arm's length away.

Hushed conversations broke out amongst the Desperados.

"Vash the Stampede..."

...Lost July, he's the guy!"

"Slaughtered thousands!"

"What does he want with us?"

"Where'd he come from? It's like..."

"Dropped out of nowhere! I'm telling..."

"They say he's more demon than man."

Rot sensed he was losing control. He couldn't allow fear to set in–they had Vash outnumbered, two hundred to one. He allowed himself to imagine what it would feel like to be sixty billion double dollars richer anddecided he'd like it very much. Very much indeed. "What did you come for, Vash the Stampede? If that is who you are?" He finally asked.

The legendary gunman's eyes pierced Rot, and the Desperado felt a sudden stab of fear.

"I've come to challenge you to a showdown."