"HELP!" Meryl bellowed, as loudly as her throat would allow. Sean growled and rushed her, and instead of retreating Meryl side-stepped him, seizing one of his wrists and twisting his arm behind him before shoving him forward, adding to his own momentum, to slam him face-first into the back wall.
She didn't have enough weight to keep him there without a more severe grip and Sean easily muscled out of her hold. He brought the back of his hand hard across Meryl's face as he turned and the force of it was enough to send her sprawling, rebounding off the side of the stall and onto the ground with a squawk of surprise at the stinging pain.
Both Thomas, startled by the sudden commotion, ducked out of the way and ran for the open mouth of the stall. They disappeared around the corner before Meryl was even back on her feet, and she managed to block Sean's next blow, though it fell so heavily it nearly forced her to her knees.
When Sean drew his fist back for the next punch, Meryl snapped a kick up high, connecting solidly with the side of his head. He staggered sideways into the wall, swearing, and Meryl only barely caught her balance with both feet on solid ground again. While Sean was still recovering, Meryl raced for the mouth of the Thomas stall.
"Help!" she shouted, again, though she was breathing heavily now and it didn't come out nearly as loudly as before. "Somebody—ah!" Sean had kicked her legs out from under her and Meryl fell forward. She managed to catch herself on the stall door before she hit the ground but he caught up with her and hauled her backwards by the collar so forcefully that Meryl both felt and heard the fabric of her blouse ripping.
The collar of her shirt simply came off in Sean's hand and Meryl fell back, turning it into a roll over her shoulder that left her too dizzy to get back on her feet before Sean could just throw himself down on top of her, trying to grab her wrists and get her pinned under him on the hay and hard-packed dirt.
"Get off me, you bastard!" hissed Meryl, breathless. She started screaming, really screaming, at the top of her lungs. Sean winced at the sound of it, but it was taking up more oxygen than Meryl could spare from fighting and she had to choose one or the other.
She chose fight.
Without real thought to the consequences, Meryl smashed her head as hard as possible into Sean's face. It nearly blinded her with pain and she let out a groan, but Sean swore and pulled away reflexively. She used what little room she'd gained and punched him in the throat, shoving him off her enough to get free as he half-choked and put one hand at his throat.
Meryl rolled onto her front and pushed herself up on hands and knees, shouting for help again as she scrambled away. She was almost to her feet when Sean's hand seized her ankle and pulled sharply backwards. Meryl fell flat on her stomach, the wind knocked from her lungs, and Sean dragged her back and crawled up over her body until he had her pinned down again.
Her face was forced sideways into the ground, straining her neck. Meryl could just see Sean's face in her peripheral vision—his nose was dripping blood—and the smell of dirt and hay and the stink of the Thomas was thick in her nose and throat as she fought for breath. She struggled awkwardly from this position, reaching above and behind her to dig her nails into any skin she could find. Sean swore once and Meryl was sure she'd drawn more blood.
But it didn't take long for Sean to seize both her wrists and twist her arms behind her back, holding them pinned painfully between their bodies. Meryl kept twisting the whole of her body under Sean's, trying desperately to dislodge him, but he finally forced one knee between hers and kept her still. His other knee joined the first and he was pushing her legs apart, shoving her skirt up around her hips and digging his fingers under the elastic band of her underwear. Meryl drew breath for one last futile scream.
Then a gunshot rang out loudly in Meryl's ears and her scream cut short abruptly in surprise.
But she hadn't been the only one screaming.
Meryl took in a great gasping breath as the crushing weight above her disappeared. She untangled her arms behind her and rolled over as quickly as she could, sitting up and scrambling away backwards on her hands. It took her a moment to really understand what had happened.
Sean was sitting slumped against one wall, clutching at the bloody mess that had so recently been his knee. He screamed again and Meryl saw he had tried to draw his own gun; someone's boot had immediately fallen heavily on it, trapping his fingers around the trigger guard.
Meryl's gaze followed the boot up until it disappeared under a long red duster.
Vash stood over the other man, staring down at him from behind those yellow glasses, wearing an expression Meryl had never seen before and hoped never to have turned on her. Fury was etched into every hard line of his face, and when he spoke his voice came out in that terrifying low growl that could almost be felt more than heard.
"Get out of this town," ordered Vash. "Right now. If you ever," he hissed the emphasis, "touch a woman without her consent again, I will find you. And it won't be your other knee I put a bullet in." Vash ground down with the heel of his boot and Meryl heard the bones in Sean's fingers snap like so many toothpicks, making him squeal in pain.
Vash turned his gaze to Meryl and she flinched automatically in anticipation of seeing those eyes. But the fury was gone, replaced by an expression she couldn't quite read from behind the yellow glasses. He pulled them off quickly and Meryl saw anxiety and honest concern in green eyes gone softer now as Vash looked her over.
He holstered the revolver in an instant and his fingers flew to the fastenings of his bright red duster. A moment's work had the jacket open and Vash was shrugging it off, offering it to Meryl even as he held out one hand to help her to her feet.
Meryl took his hand, but she reached down to pluck Sean's gun from his ruined fingers before she stood. She pointed it down at the other man and was furious to find her hand was shaking. The next moment, Vash's gloved fingers were wrapped over the revolver's cylinder.
She knew Vash could have twisted the gun from her grasp in an instant, but he just held his hand over hers and waited. Meryl thought of McDonough, how Vash had put the revolver in the other man's hand, already knowing what he would do. Was Vash so sure about her?
Now Meryl couldn't even look at Vash, her eyes seemingly stuck on the man who had hurt her, who would gladly have raped her, who was now cowering under her gaze. As she stared into his eyes, which were wide and wet with tears from pain, rage, terror, Meryl thought of Vash and of everything she had ever seen in his eyes. That Idiot sparkle, the man-in-red's intense and purposeful gaze, the strange look that gave her goosebumps, and now that new terrifying fury. Meryl wondered which pair would be looking back at her if she pulled the trigger...
And she decided she didn't want to find out.
Meryl released the gun and Vash pulled it from her fingers.
She let Vash wrap the red duster around her body, enveloping her in warmth. The high collar reached above her chin and covered her mouth, and when she inhaled she could smell sweat and gunpowder and something spicy and sweet and soothing. Meryl tucked her nose into the collar and breathed deeply.
Vash stood close at her side and put a hand at the small of her back to help guide her out into the cool night air. Then he took her hand—her left hand, which could actually reach past the cut-off sleeve (the other still had easily six iches of fabric dangling past her fingers)—and led her away from the stables.
Meryl walked with him but didn't know where he might take her; she didn't really want to go back upstairs and face Milly (who would only be upset and scared that it had been her fault, by sending Meryl down for a toothbrush), but she had nowhere else to go and just let Vash pull her along.
The gravity of the situation—what had almost just happened to her—was starting to weigh Meryl down with each step. Real fear, which hadn't had time to sink in amidst the chaos of the past few minutes, struck her now. She struggled to hold in everything that threatened to spill out of her in a delayed reaction to the attack. What if Vash hadn't found her?
Her throat was closed on tears now but she wouldn't let Vash see them; she hid her face inside the high collar of the jacket and followed him blindly from only her hand in his.
But soon Meryl was truly sobbing, tears squeezing out from the corners of her eyes to roll down over the dusty skin of her cheeks. Her shoulders were shaking as she tried to remain silent, but Meryl finally just stopped abruptly and pulled her hand from Vash's to bury her face in the scratchy fabric of the jacket's long right sleeve.
Meryl hated that he was seeing her so vulnerable. Physically outmatched by that other man was understandable, but these tears were a weakness she never wanted Vash to see. She quieted her sobbing through sheer force of will, hoping...
What? That he'll leave, and pretend not to notice?
Then she hiccupped in surprise; strong arms were suddenly looped around her shoulders and Vash was pulling her in close to his chest. For a moment Meryl was frozen, breath caught in her throat as she tried to make sense of this unexpected reaction. Then Vash tightened his protective embrace with a gentle squeeze and Meryl burst into tears again, her face still buried in her hands. She felt him rest his cheek on the top of her head and she let herself wrap her arms around his back, pressing her face into that strange leather half-armor he wore under the jacket. Meryl clung to him tightly, and cried.
And Vash didn't shush her, or tell her it was alright. He just let her cry. Meryl basked in the warmth from his body and breathed in the smell of him and just felt so strangely safe there, in the circle of Vash's arms, like nothing in the world could touch her.
After awhile one of his hands moved up to massage the back of her neck and Meryl almost melted, leaning even further into him with a sigh as her breathing slowed and steadied again.
"I wouldn't have killed him," Meryl murmured, suddenly. She wasn't sure why it was so important to say so.
"I know," said Vash, and she felt his breath warm on her hair. "But I thought we should leave him use of one knee."
Meryl gave a weak little laugh and drew back to look up into Vash's face, lessening her hold around his back—but not letting go entirely. He didn't seem to mind.
He was smiling faintly, but Meryl could tell it was barely covering a grimace as he looked her over again. She knew a few bruises must already be forming on her face, but she was glad Vash didn't ask if she was alright, when they both already knew the answer. Finally she couldn't think of any more reasons to justify her hold on him and Meryl reluctantly let go and stepped back. For a moment she was stuck in his hold and she thought maybe he was equally reluctant to release her.
"I suppose it's time to get some sleep," said Meryl. "If I can," she added, quietly.
Vash just nodded. She was so tempted to take his hand again and let him lead her upstairs... But that was absurd. So Meryl led the way instead and they walked in a comfortable silence until they reached the saloon. She pulled the door for open for Vash as they entered the building, but he caught the door above her head and ushered Meryl inside first (which both flattered and annoyed her at the same time).
They climbed the stairs side by side and when they reached the fourth floor landing Meryl took off Vash's jacket and handed it back to him. He just draped it over one arm and watched her. She balked now at the door the room she shared with Milly. She didn't really want to go inside.
"She must be worried," Vash murmured, seeing Meryl's hesitation. Meryl shook her head.
"She's asleep, I can hear her snoring. I'd just worry her more by waking her up, looking like this," said Meryl, waving a hand at her ripped blouse and filthy skirt. She sighed. Then Vash was pressing something into her hand.
"Take my room, then," he said, pushing open the door across the hall. "I'll find somewhere else for the night." The key was warm in her hand and Meryl watched Vash disappear into the room and emerge a moment later with the red duster on again, his black bag slung over one shoulder.
He gestured Meryl in and she entered the room, turning to face Vash again from the interior.
For a moment they just looked at each other and, try though she might, Meryl couldn't quite read his expression. Finally, she said, "Goodnight." Vash nodded in reply and turned to go.
At the last moment, Meryl suddenly remembered something and she reached out to catch the sleeve of Vash's jacket. He turned, looking half curious and half concerned.
"What did you do back there?" she asked. Vash frowned down at her now, puzzled. "At the plant," Meryl clarified. "How did you stop it?"
That familiar sparkle reappeared in his eyes and Vash grinned. "I read the manual," he said, shrugging.
Meryl felt the corner of her mouth twitch up slightly.
"Of course you did."
Vash gave her a small, genuine smile now.
His free hand reached out toward her face but Meryl recoiled automatically. When Vash's smile faltered she kicked herself for the knee-jerk reaction following Sean's attack.
"Goodnight," said Vash, suddenly colder than he'd been just moments before.
"Vash, I—"
But he was already pulling the door shut for her, locking himself out in the hall.
Meryl let her forehead fall heavily on her side of the door, squeezing her eyes shut tight and regretting that small flinch more than anything else she'd done that night.
"Thank you," she said, though she doubted Vash would hear her.
She waited there another long moment before taking a deep breath. Then the breath came out in a sigh and Meryl turned to face the room.
Without Vash's jacket Meryl found herself suddenly cold and she wished she had something other than the clothes she wore (or rather, what was left of them). She looked down at herself for the first time since they had left the stables and gasped. Her calves were covered in blood from Sean's injury and she hurried to the bathtub in the corner of the room, desperate to wash away any evidence of him. Meryl sat on the edge of the tub and didn't even wait for the water to warm up, she just scrubbed at her skin until it was pink and almost raw and the last traces of bright, red-stained water were circling the drain.
Then she stood and looked sadly down at the skirt she still wore, now rumpled and dirty, and wanted nothing more than to rip it to shreds. It was a gift from Milly, but it would only ever have the taint of the evening on it.
Even with nothing else to wear, Meryl stripped off the skirt and ruined blouse, throwing them into the corner where she wouldn't have to look at them. Chilled in just her underthings, she crossed her arms over her chest and finally faced the bed, ready to crawl under the covers and shiver herself to sleep.
Except there was a neatly folded stack of clothes on the bedspread. Curious, Meryl picked up the top garment and it unfolded in her grasp. It was a shirt, dangling from the end of one long sleeve. The other was a matching pair of pants.
Meryl knew Vash had left the clothes for her—it would certainly have been impossible to miss them while packing—and she smiled faintly at this gesture. She pulled the shirt over her head and was enveloped in that smell again, of gunpowder and grease and something sweet. She found that it helped calm her just as before, giving again that inexplicable feeling of being safe, and she settled the large shirt over her shoulders. It was loose, almost absurdly large for someone her size, with sleeves that dangled past her fingers. Smiling truly now, Meryl shoved the sleeves up enough that she could use both hands properly, stepping into the pants of the same soft material. These were so baggy on her frame that she could barely tighten the drawstring enough to keep the pants up over her hips.
She felt like a little girl dressing up in grown-up clothes and the thought actually made her laugh. Vash wasn't this much bigger than she was; Meryl figured that these must fit even him pretty loosely, too. The fabric was soft and warm and when she curled up under the covers she tucked her nose inside the shirt's collar, breathing deeply.
She couldn't sleep, but that comfortable smell left her mind blissfully blank, keeping her from dwelling on everything that had happened. Blank except for memories of how good it felt to wrap her arms around Vash and hold on tight...
After a long while Meryl realized the sky outside was brightening, slightly, and she sat up with her heart racing.
Milly slept most soundly just before dawn; this would be Meryl's best chance to try sneaking back into their room unnoticed. She had no idea what to do if Milly caught her—what would she say? What could she possibly say?
So she hurried to the door, opened it, and nearly tripped over Vash in her rush to get across the hall. Meryl caught herself on the doorframe, sucking in a quick breath and suppressing a squeak of surprise.
Vash was sitting in her doorway with his long legs splayed out across the hall in front of him, very clearly asleep. His arms were crossed and his head slumped low, his chin nearly resting on his chest, his stooped shoulders rising and falling in time with his breath.
Meryl gazed down at him and wondered if he had been there all night, standing guard.
Well. Sitting guard.
She smiled despite herself.
And then she remembered her hurry. Meryl stepped carefully around Vash, shutting the door behind him almost silently, and sneaked across the hall to the room she shared with Milly.
Their door rested on well-oiled hinges and Meryl made no noise as she slipped inside. Milly was still asleep, snoring, facing the wall, and she made no sign of noticing Meryl's entrance. Meryl scanned the room, looking for the long shirt she normally wore to bed; she needed to change out of Vash's clothes—how would she be able to explain that?—and into her own, quickly.
Thankfully Meryl found her shirt lying folded at the foot of the bed. She must have left it on the floor that morning, leaving Milly to pick it up for her (this was common practice, really, but Meryl still felt a pang of guilt).
Stripping off Vash's baggy clothing, Meryl shrugged into her own night shirt, glancing worriedly out the window to see the first sun just beginning to glimmer at the horizon. Still keeping silent, listening to each of Milly's snores for fear it would be the last before waking, Meryl searched the room desperately for her suitcase.
Meryl cursed inwardly to find her cloak lying across the case. She wanted to hide Vash's clothes before Milly woke, and she was running out of time. She wasn't exactly sure why she felt the need to hide them, but they were tied to the secret she wanted to keep from the younger woman, and that was reason enough.
It was delicate and painstakingly slow work to move the cloak, being careful to keep the derringers from making any noise that might wake Milly. As Meryl drew it toward her she noticed, for the first time since the showdown with the Nebraskas, the small bullet hole burned through the fabric from where Vash had fired that last shot.
She paused, the cloak only halfway across her lap, and looked down at it. She poked a finger up through the perfectly round hole in the fabric, wiggling it around a little.
Last night Vash had fired on someone again, had harmed someone, to protect her. And not just to protect her, she realized. Not just to stop that man, but to hurt him. Meryl had never seen Vash intentionally inflict pain on anyone, but he had done it that night. She remembered the way Vash had looked down at her attacker, that terrible fury that seemed almost to burn like fire in his eyes. And she wondered if that man, who had shed another man's blood and promised him death, was the Humanoid Typhoon. That man was dangerous. That man was capable of horrible things.
Now she thought of every facet of him; the Idiot, the man in red, the Humanoid Typhoon.
Meryl wiggled her finger through the bullet hole again and she suddenly understood that this was what it meant to follow Vash's road with him, to face the same dangers he faced—or to face the dangers he posed.
She was surprised by how much it didn't scare her.
Milly suddenly gave one loud grunt of a snore and rolled over to face the room. Meryl shoved Vash's borrowed clothing unceremoniously into her suitcase and slammed it shut again before Milly could even open her eyes.
"Good morning!" Meryl chirped, giving Milly a bright smile.