A/N: Okay folksies. The fic is winding down now--only one more chapter left. (Maybe I'll do a sequel sometime). This chappie's short--nothing I could do to fix that. It just wouldn't stretch on long enough. :
The suns burned, bright and warm, in the cloudless blue sky. In the city of October, people were beginning to venture from their houses. The citizens had formed teams to collect the cans and cigarette butts littering the once-pristine streets of their city. Now their laughter made the beautiful, lazy day seem even more joyful.
Meryl Stryfe was sitting in an al fresco diner, guarded from the sun's glare by a green-and-white striped awning. She twisted first one way, then another, tugging at her arm sling in a vain attempt to get comfortable. "What is taking so long?" She murmured to no one in particular. There was no venom in her voice, however–the day was much too cheerful for that. It felt great sitting in the open without worrying about being spotted.
A figure caught her eye at the edge of town–lanky, lean, athletic. Sunshine made the man's aureate hair glow a rich shade of gold. Dressed in his red greatcoat, he almost looked cool. Almost.
Meryl hid her smile by taking a sip of coffee as Vash spied her and gave an enthusiastic wave. He picked his way through the happily bustling avenue toward the little restaurant.
"Hi, insurance girl!" He beamed, dropping into a chair across from her. "How's the arm?"
"It's fine," Meryl said looking down at the sling. The Desperados had left the bullet in her shoulder; they hadn't expected her to survive, after all. The slug had been pinching a nerve painfully, butit hurt very littleafter the doctor had taken the bullet out. "You're leaving?" She said, trying to sound casual. Instead her voice caught in her throat, and she stared intently at her steaming cup of coffee, hoping he hadn't noticed.
"Yeah," said Vash, a little wistfully. "People will start to notice me pretty soon, like they did in Baker."
Meryl shivered, remembering what it had felt like to be hunted; to always be on guard; to be afraid all the time. "Where are you going to go?" She asked.
"I don't know, really. I guess I'll see where my life takes me. What about you?" He turned his deep turquoise eyes on her.
"I'm going to December." She said firmly.
"Why not stay in October?"
Meryl cast around for the right way to answer his question. It was true that October had changed for the better. Her eyes jumped from person to person: a little girl sitting on her daddy's lap, licking an ice cream cone; an elderly couple resting beside an ivy-covered wall, bony fingers interlocked; two best friends sharing a laugh by the watering trough. But somehow, October was different for her. It was a place of suffering–a place that she desperately wanted to forget. She couldn't stay here any longer, with the memory of Red Jenkins lingering at every boisterous bar. She couldn't wait to leave and start the next epoch of her life somewhere far, far away.
"I'm going to Bernardelli Insurance Co. headquarters. I got a job offer there." She said. It was the quickest and easiest explanation. She turned her stormy gaze on Vash. "You'll come visit me there?"
"I don't know," he said with an uneasy chuckle. "I caused a little disturbance there awhile back. Might still be hard feelings."
"Oh," said Meryl, disappointed.
"I think..." he started, then stopped. With reckless abandon, he blurted out: "I think our paths will cross again someday. I can feel it."
Thepair lapsed into silence. Well--semi-silence: Vash kept drumming his fingers nervously against their small, round table, until Meryl was ready to kill him herself.
Rat-a-tatta-tatta-tat...tatta-ratta-rat-tat-tat...rattatatattattaratattat–
Meryl clamped her good hand over Vash's, shooting him an icy glare. "Stop...that...now." She said, articulating her words dangerously.
"Sorry, Meryl," Vash winced with a self-deprecating smile that melted Meryl's frostiness. He didn't bother to take his hand from underneath hers, so they sat with their hands entwined under the shade of the awning, listening to the chatter around them.
"Can we go someplace quieter?" Asked Vash. Meryl looked at him in surprise. Probably is uneasy with all these bounty hunters around, she reminded herself.
"Where?"
Vash's stare settled on the sandy horizon. "I have to leave soon if I want to catch the bus out of here," he said absently. "We should go to the bus stop."
Meryl pushed herself up, slightly off-balance without the use of her left arm. She felt Vash's hand catch her arm, steady her. They wound their way to the bus stop with spare words; Meryl felt awkward for the first time since she'd met him. The bus stop was empty: the bus wasn't supposed to arrive for a good fifteen minutes, and no one was especially anxious to leave now that the Desperados were gone.
"Meryl...thanks." Vash said finally, fixing his eyes on the brilliant blue sky.
"What for?" Asked Meryl dispiritedly: saying good-bye was harder than she'd feared.
"I don't know," he said, still not looking at her.
"Well, you're welcome," she said.
The bus pulled up, brakes screeching. A cloud of dust settled around the dull, dirt-caked wheels. The doors hissed open, revealing a set of stairs.
Vash looked at her at last. Her hair, wearing slightly long, was disheveled–she kept running her fingers through it out of frustration. The fine, narrow scar that the bullet graze had left across her cheekbone looked less like a scar and more like a stubborn smudge of dirt, and her shirt was untucked, the rumpled sleeves rolled up to her elbows.
She'd never looked more beautiful.
"Oh yeah, I almost forgot!" Vash cried suddenly. He reached into the pocket of his coat and withdrew a small derringer that Meryl recognized immediately.
"This...is my derringer," she breathed, taking the pistol gently in her hands. She rubbed her fingers along its sleek, time-worn curves, enjoying its familiar weight and coolness in her palm. "Where did you get this?" She asked, astonished, tearing her eyes from the gun.
"I bought it from the gunsmith after you left. From I've heard, this little derringer saved your life."
Meryl nodded. "My father gave it to me," she said, smiling at the memory of her father. "You know I don't like guns," he had said, "but a girl as small and helpless as you needs something to even the odds. It's small, but it's power is sufficient."
Vash cupped her chin in one hand, tracing the scar on her cheekbone withhis thumb.
"Vash, what are–" she started, but Vash leaned in and gently brushed his lips against hers. The kiss was so soft she wondered if she'd just imagined it. Just as she was about to haul off and deck him, he pulled her into a hug.
"Goodbye, Meryl," he whispered, genuine pain in his voice. He disentangled himself and left a furiously blushing Meryl rooted to the spot. She watched–unable to move or speak–as he paid his fare and took a seat, winking coltishly at her before the transport pulled away and left the small, dark-haired sylph in its wake.
A small tear slid down her cheek and she brushed it away. "Goodbye...Vash the Stampede."