A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed. After I wrote this chapter it occurred to me...I've been struck by plot bunnies. Time to slap on my thinking cap...it's a little disused.

Aine of Knockaine: Thanks, Aine. The whole thing is still a little...wobbly. It doesn't even have a plot.
Silvereyerish: haha, I'm glad you liked it! I was going to leave this a one-shot, but truth be told, it's kind of fun.
Peridot3783: Lol, I continued. Do I get a review now? (I feel like Oliver Twist: "More!") Thanks so much.
Igbogal: Wow...I really don't know what to say, except I've never received such a gratifying compliment in my life. thank you!
SiNicaLLY diSTuRbEd: Do you have any idea what a pain in the $$ it is to capitalize all those letters? Well, I wouldn't want to disappoint you...or Kay. So here's your continuation. (P.S. Of course you know where I live. You're on my couch watching League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. I know where you live, too, and I personally vow to make you suffer for what you did to my Anne of Green Gables tape.)
Angelus Diabolicus: Thanks. Seems like Vash didn't take the news to hard, huh:P
Sakura Mochi: thanks. I didn't expect anyone to even notice the ficlet. I guess daydreaming isn't such a bad hobby after all...:)
Kabashka: Oh, hehe. Thanks. I'll try to make him more womanizing in future chapters. There's no solid plot now, but I have a vague idea that involves much Vash-y cuteness.
Chinagirl2: Thanks, Chinagirl. I didn't expect anyone to like it...your review really meant alot to me.
ReadingWhiz89: Thanks for you vote, lol. I'm ecstatic that the characters are IC...considering the frazzled state I was in when I wrote it.
Mistyxiii: Oh..thanks! It was just a little scene that I've been entertaining for awhile...I thought I'd put it into words, sprinkle in some seasoning, polish it off, and voila: one plotless piece of fluff was the result ;).

Disclaimer: No, I don't own any Trigun characters, except for the ones chained in my basement. --winks at sinically disturbed--

Hunting Mayflies
By: The Hellcat

Meryl shut her eyes more tightly against the light, her hands tightening into fists, clutching her comforter. She didn't have to go to work until two-thirty, which meant the morning was hers to enjoy. She inhaled deeply, shifting in the warm cotton sheets of the bedspread. No interruptions, no stress, no concerns, no---

CLUNK

Meryl's reverie was shattered by a loud, metallic clang, followed at the heels by a whispered curse. Vash. Meryl's eyes flew open and she kicked the blanket off hastily, rolling out of bed. She struggled into yesterday's skirt, skipping the leggings, and flew into the kitchen. Meryl skidded to a halt, glanced left and right, her eyes settling on Vash's red-clad figure. For a moment she was thrown for a loop: the $$60,000,000,000 man, the Humanoid Typhoon, the Stampede…was on all fours beside the iron-cast kitchen stove, head angled toward the floor as he peered into the abyss below the appliance.

"Vash?" Meryl managed, riveted to the floor.

The blonde's head jerked up, slamming into the oven handle. He winced, cradling the sore spot, and looked up at the insurance agent through watery eyes.

"What the hell are you doing?" She demanded, returning his innocent moue with her best Meryl-glare. She could practically see the (very rusty) wheels turning in the gunman's head as he deliberated the situation.

"Oh, um…just. Just checking the oven," Vash choked out.

"Checking the oven?" Meryl echoed disbelievingly.

Vash cleared his throat. "Absolutely. Just making sure it's clean…and stuff." The look on Vash's face said he realized she wasn't buying it. "I do it all the time," he added quickly.

"All the time?" Meryl repeated. Vash nodded.

"At least once a week," he said unconvincingly.

"How come I never see you at it?" Meryl shot back.

Vash's mouth formed an "o". His eyes darted around the room, as if to mark his exits. "B-because you're always gone. Gone, ah, I mean, at work." He finished.

"Uh-huh. Let me get this straight: you 'check' the oven twice a week--"

"Once a week." Vash corrected.

"Once a week," Meryl resumed, "because….why?"

"To make sure it's safe." Vash winced, recognizing the lameness of his cover story.

"Safe? It's an oven! What's really going on?" Meryl tried to step closer, but Vash stood up suddenly, blocking her view.

"Nothing is going on. I declare the oven safe yet another week. Say, do you want coffee?" He tried to catch Meryl's arm and steer her away.

"I'm serious, Vash," she snapped, slapping his hand back.

Vash's shoulders slumped, resigned to the fact that he was going to get into trouble. "Last night Milly and I were playing poker," he began, sneaking a glance at Meryl to gauge her reaction. "Milly upped the ante aaand…I didn't have quite enough to meet the bet."

Meryl let out a groan. Vash's stories always ended in the same way: trouble.

"So I--I thought you wouldn't mind if, maybe I kind of, sort of. I honestly didn't mean to---"

"For God's sake, just spit it out, Vash!" Meryl cried impatiently.

"I borrowed you earrings."

Meryl gaped. "You what?"

"I bor--"

"I heard you. You bet my earrings!"

"Well, no, not exactly."

"Well, either you did or you didn't, Vash."

"No, I borrowed your earrings. They, um. They didn't quite make it to the betting pool."

"What?" Meryl said, exasperated.

Vash rubbed the back of his neck absently. "You see, I was carrying the earrings from your bedroom to the table, and Milly was coming from the kitchen. She had just refilled her glass."

"You were drinking alcohol?" Meryl queried, disapproval evident in her tone.

"Just a little."

Meryl pinched the bridge of her nose. "And?"

"And she was a little ah, tipsy."

"I'm sure she wasn't alone," Meryl muttered.

"Anyway," the gunman continued loudly, "we sort of collided. And she spilled brandy all---everywhere. So, I guess I dropped the earrings and---"

"They fell under the stove," Meryl guessed.

"Not quite. I slipped in the brandy and fell head over heels, and I must have--accidentally--kicked an earring under the oven. But I managed to find the other one," he concluded brightly, holding up the jewelry for her to inspect."

"Give that to me," Meryl said tartly, snatching the earring away.

"It's good that you know now," Vash said cheerfully. "Your hands are smaller than mine. Maybe you can reach it."

Meryl shot the gunman an acid glare, crouching beside the stove. "Can't we just move it?"

Vash shook his head. "No, I tried that and, uh, remind me to buy you a new teapot."

"What happened to the old one?"

"When I went to move it the whole thing tipped and the teapot slipped completely off the burner and--"

"Forget it," Meryl interrupted. "I don't want to know." She craned her neck beneath the oven. "I can't see it."

Vash hunkered down next to Meryl. "It's right there," he said, his breath ruffling her hair.

"Where?" Meryl asked petulantly. "I don't see anything."

"There." Vash pointed.

"I don't see it," Meryl said with an air of finality. She started to stand.

"Hold on." Vash snatched her work tie and tugged her back down. He curled his hand around hers and worked his arm underneath the oven. "There. Can you feel it?"

Meryl concentrated, sweeping her hand along the floor. "Hang on…yes." She squirmed a little, chewing her lower lip.

"Have you got it yet?"

"Almost…there!" She recoiled her arm, holding up the small, slender earring. Dust clung to the gold, made it shine dully in the early light. Her chest was heaving with effort, and a few stray ebon hairs fluttered around her mouth. Vash's hand was still clamped around her wrist and he was so close she could smell his aftershave. The atmosphere quickly grew awkward, slightly charged.

"Meryl," Vash breathed.

Meryl felt a sudden thrill of fear and tried to keep it in check. She had never seen him this serious---not since Legato. His aquamarine eyes were alive in the soft kitchen light, his lips parted boyishly.

"Yes, Vash?"

"You have dust on your forehead." He put a hand to his forehead to indicate where the smudge was. "Right here."

Thanks for reading; have a nice day :)