Meryl was having the same dream, over and over and over again.
Vash was carrying her in his arms. She couldn't see anything, but it didn't matter. She was wearing his jacket and the spice-sweet smell of him was unmistakable. He was whispering soothing words she couldn't quite hear or understand, but she recognized the voice as Vash. Not the Idiot. Not the Humanoid Typhoon. Vash.
He was holding her cradled comfortably against his chest, and she was warm and she was safe and nothing could touch her. Vash would never let anything touch her.
But then someone was trying to pull her away, and Vash struggled to keep hold of her. He wrapped his arms around her body so tightly it hurt, but it wasn't enough.
And then he had lost her, and someone else had her, and they stripped away Vash's jacket, leaving her naked. But it didn't matter, because all that mattered was the sudden searing pain ripping through her gut, into her stomach and through her spine, as though she had been impaled. She couldn't even draw breath to scream, but that didn't matter because Vash was screaming for her. Not the Idiot shriek she knew so well, but an unending cry of real fear and panic and anger.
And just when the pain was so overwhelming that she might have prayed for death, she was back in Vash's arms and it all began again.
Over and over and over and over.
Finally, finally, a hundred years later, Meryl woke from the perpetual nightmare, just as the pain came again. The ghost of Vash's scream seemed to ring in her ears and she lay on her back, wide-eyed and gasping for breath.
Everything hurt. She tried to sit up, to look around and see where she was, but her body refused to obey her commands and for a terrifying moment Meryl feared she might be paralyzed. Then the stiffness in her muscles and joints relented and she managed to push herself up to a sitting position, gritting her teeth against the ache and soreness that stabbed at her every ich along the way.
Meryl found herself cleaned up (and in some places, bandaged), tucked into the only bed in an unfamiliar room, but the sight of Milly's stun-gun resting against the wall by the door instantly allayed any concerns she might have had. Her luggage was there too, stacked alongside Milly's in a corner, and a fresh set of clothing was laid out on a chair nearby—including her cloak, draped over one arm.
Milly herself, however, was noticeably absent.
"Milly?"
The name rasped out of Meryl's chapped lips, barely audible, and she coughed and cleared her throat in an attempt at finding her voice. She tried again, and it came out stronger: "Milly?" But there was no reply, and Meryl frowned.
Where is this? Still on the steamer?
Meryl tried to remember what had happened, but things were a little fuzzy. The steamer hadn't crashed, of that she was fairly certain, but otherwise she wasn't sure of much else. She strained her memory...
Clark had been there, and that thought brought a stab of anxiety and sudden rush of old memories. Clark had been there, and they had talked about Alex, and yet somehow now it didn't hurt just to think his name.
Yes, Clark had been there, and so had Vash—he had listened to their conversation, and then confronted her about the brake, again. Meryl felt another stab of panic: Vash had been on the Gunsmoke, Vash had pulled the brake. Vash thought he was responsible...
Meryl hurriedly shifted her weight to one hand and tried to throw off the sheets with the other, but the attempt was met with a strange, stinging pain in the crook of her right elbow. She hissed, clapping her left hand over the bandage there, but it only made the pain worse. With a stab of horror, Meryl realized a length of rubber tubing was protruding from under her hand and she unwrapped the bandage clumsily with stiff fingers.
A needle—a fucking needle—was inserted into her forearm, pressed flat and nearly parallel with her skin. The rubber tubing was attached to the needle and she carefully pulled the whole apparatus out of her arm, hurriedly throwing it away over the edge of the bed. It never hit the floor; the tubing stretched and bounced back, and Meryl realized it led up to a glass jar resting on the headboard, full of some clear liquid she didn't really want to think about being fed into her veins.
Instead she threw off the covers, successfully this time, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Meryl reached for the pile of clothes, and when her indigo leggings were just a few iches out of her reach, she tried to stand up and step forward.
All her muscles screamed in protest and she fell back onto the bed without even putting weight on her feet. Meryl let out a long hissing breath through her teeth as she tried to recover from the failed attempt to stand. Setting her jaw, she tried again and ignored the burning soreness in her legs as she rose, albeit shakily, to her feet.
One step forward and she could reach the chair; Meryl put nearly all her weight on the free arm of the chair with one hand and grabbed the entire pile of clothes in the other before stumbling back to sit on the bed again. She struggled somewhat with the leggings, but donning the blouse and tunic was relatively easy and with each new movement the aches and stiffness in her body were starting to become more background soreness than individual stabbing pains.
Absently, Meryl wondered how long she must have slept to become quite this sore...
She spotted her boots at the foot of the bed, the Thomas-hide freshly cleaned and shined with boot polish and the kind of loving care of Milly's that Meryl could never seem to match.
The thought made her smile, and Meryl pulled on the boots before standing, this time much more steady on her feet. Meryl didn't know where she was, or where Milly was, or where the hell Vash might be, but by god she was going to find out. Pulling her cloak from the arm of the chair, Meryl wrapped it around her shoulders as she crossed the room to the door.
She pulled it open and Vash punched her in the face.
Meryl fell back in blinding pain—again!—and collapsed to the floor in tears, barely able to hear Vash's startled, "What the—"
What had started as a black eye in Inepril had turned into living hell. A kick to the face in the air vents and the impact with the wall down in the belly of the steamer had each made it worse, but now... Meryl had both hands pressed over her face, sobbing noisily but unable to stop—god, it hurt.
"You're alright!" exclaimed Vash.
He sounded relieved, though personally Meryl thought "collapsed on the floor crying" was a pretty low bar for alright.
"Mr. Vash?"
The second voice was unmistakably Milly's, and Meryl heard the younger woman's footsteps as she entered the room behind Vash.
"Ma'am!" Milly gasped, and moments later Meryl felt steadying hands on her shoulders, helping her sit up again as she tried to rein in the tears, breathing in shallow hiccupping breaths. "Mr. Vash, what did you do to her?" demanded Milly.
"I'm sorry!" said Vash, desperately apologetic. "I was just knocking! I was going to knock and she walked right into my knuckles!"
Meryl heard Milly's exasperated sigh as the younger woman pulled Meryl to her feet, guiding her across the room and settling her in the chair where her clothes had been earlier. Milly gently drew Meryl's hands from her face, saying, "Let me see, Ma'am."
"I'm sorry!" Vash said, again, and now Meryl could see him, vaguely, through her good eye, blurred by remaining tears. He was hovering over Milly's shoulder as she pressed gentle fingertips to Meryl's eyebrow.
"Ow," Meryl protested, pulling away before Milly could poke at any other wounds.
"Nothing's broken," Milly announced, standing again. "I'll get you a compress, it'll help with the swelling. Mr. Vash, why don't you come back later?"
Meryl was trying to use the hem of her cloak to gently dab at her eyes, to clear them of tears without touching anything that would hurt, and it wasn't until she heard the door shut with a quiet click that she actually registered what Milly had said.
"What? No!" shouted Meryl. "Don't let him leave!" She stood, clutching the arm of the chair as she blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision.
"Ma'am, sit down," chided Milly. Something cool and wet suddenly slapped across Meryl's black eye and she plopped back down into the chair, startled.
"No," said Meryl, stubbornly. "You don't understand, he'll run off again—"
"Of course he won't," Milly interrupted, holding the compress firmly over Meryl's eye. "Mr. Vash has been worried sick about you. He's come by every day to check that you're alright, he's not going to up and leave now just because he's certain you're well."
"He's been—what?" said Meryl. "What do you mean every day? How long have I been out?"
"Nearly a week," Milly said, almost apologetically.
"A week?" Meryl demanded, trying in vain to push Milly's hand, and the compress, away from her face. "But what—what—" Meryl's mind was racing. A week, what the hell had gone on? Where were they? How did she even get here? What had happened to the steamer? Where had Vash been, and where was he going now? A week? "But I—what did—I don't—what?" She spluttered a few more incongruous syllables before just giving up. Milly's hand released the compress and Meryl held it herself, sitting in stunned silence.
Milly seemed to have been waiting for her to run out of steam before starting any kind of explanation, and now she sighed, saying, "Well, I can tell you what I know, but I'm afraid it isn't much..."
"Where are we?" Meryl asked, glancing around the unfamiliar room.
"Oh, this is Mr. Vash's room," said Milly, smiling again, evidently thankful to be answering questions instead of trying to decide where to start. "We're still on the steamer."
"So it's still in one piece," Meryl said, relieved.
Milly recoiled in alarm. "Why wouldn't it be?"
But Meryl was looking around again and didn't reply, finally recognizing the room in daylight. She glanced at the bed where Milly was sitting and noted that she had been significantly more comfortable in it than under it. Now she remembered vividly having been under it and sandwiched tightly between the bedframe and Vash, the two of them pressed together so closely—god, he's gorgeous—and Meryl felt her face flush at the memory.
"And where are we now?" she asked hurriedly, before Milly could notice and comment. "Where's the steamer, I mean."
"Still in the canyon," said Milly. "They told us it was too damaged to complete the voyage, and it's stuck here until it can be repaired. They've been shuttling passengers back to Inepril all week, but Mr. Vash said not to move you, so we're the last ones here." She gestured at the door glumly, saying, "When you woke up this morning, I was off trying to get breakfast, but they've closed down the passenger dining salons."
At the word "breakfast" Meryl suddenly realized she was starving.
"That's no problem," she said, grinning. From under the compress still pressed over one eye, Meryl saw Milly's eyebrows come together in confusion. "I said I'd take you down to the crew mess, didn't I?" Milly's face lit up immediately and Meryl laughed. "I admit I didn't think it would be a week later, but still."
Milly helped Meryl stand, making sure the smaller woman was steady on her feet before releasing her. Meryl waited while Milly put the compress away and tentatively tried stretching various sore muscle groups, all of which put up a fight. She groaned and walked stiffly into the corridor outside Vash's room, leading Milly down to the main kitchens and the crew mess hall.
"How did you find me?" Meryl asked, as they walked. "After the steamer stopped," she clarified, at Milly's puzzled look. The last thing Meryl remembered was being left—abandoned—in the passenger salon, watching Vash walk away without her.
Milly looked surprised. "Mr. Vash found you, Ma'am, not me," she said. "But he was too badly hurt to carry you, so he came to find me. After I brought Miss Candice back up from—she's fine, Ma'am," said Milly quickly, seeing Meryl's sudden panic.
Meryl had nearly forgotten about the girl, and upon remembering was relieved to hear Candice was alright. She nodded for Milly to continue.
"I had taken Miss Candice up to one of the sick-bays—they were all overcrowded, mostly with people with just bumps and bruises—and Mr. Vash found me there. He was in terrible shape, Ma'am," said Milly, shaking her head. "He was bleeding through the bandage you made him let me put on, right after he was shot, in the duel, but then Mr. Vash wouldn't let me treat him at all, and I knew that would make you mad, Ma'am, but he was being so stubborn and wouldn't listen—"
"Milly," Meryl interrupted, gently, trying not to laugh at the way the younger woman had grown more and more irritated in her retelling of the story. Meryl was no stranger to that same irritation, herself.
"Sorry, Ma'am," said Milly, looking embarrassed. "But sometimes he can be so... so... "
"I know," Meryl assured her, smiling wryly.
"Mr. Vash just wanted to make sure you were looked after first," Milly said. "So he took me to find you, and then gave me the key to his room so I didn't have to try and find space for you in a sick-bay. He told me he would go back to a sick-bay to get that bullet wound treated, after..."
"After what?" Meryl asked, troubled by the worried look that accompanied Milly's hesitation.
"After he saw to Neon," Milly finished. "He didn't tell me what that meant," she said, before Meryl could ask. Then added, solemnly, "And I didn't ask him."
Meryl frowned at this, but said nothing. She had assumed Neon and his BadLads would have abandoned the steamer after Vash had won the duel, and she couldn't come up with any guesses for how Vash might see to Neon.
"Milly, do you know how the steamer actually stopped?" Meryl asked.
"I was going to ask you, Ma'am," said Milly, cautiously. "The crew wouldn't tell the passengers anything, afterward. But..." She hesitated again, looking almost too nervous to continue. "I know you went below decks, after you sent me to find Miss Candice. And that you knew how—that you were trying to stop the steamer..." Milly was almost shrinking away from her and Meryl felt a stab of guilt when she realized the younger woman was expecting her to snap at her again, like every other time she had gotten too close to actually asking about Meryl's past.
"I did try," Meryl said, finally. But she couldn't really bring herself to say more, and she was saved from finding a way to change the subject when they turned a corner and nearly ran into another pair of women. They all made awkward noises as they tried to step out each other's paths to avoid collision, and Meryl was about to apologize when Milly laughed delightedly.
"Hi, Miss Paige! Miss Allie!" she said, beaming. Now Meryl recognized them too, two of the stewardesses they had met in the crew galley that first night, though she never would have remembered their names.
"Hey, new girls!" said the taller (Meryl was pretty sure that one was Allie). She smiled and looked them over, asking, "Where've you been?"
"It's complicated," Meryl offered, shrugging, before Milly could launch into a detailed explanation.
"Oh," said the other girl (Paige, probably), bemused. "You headed for breakfast?"
"Yep!" Milly affirmed, nodding happily. She and probably-Paige fell into step and started chatting immediately.
Behind them, Meryl walked alongside the other girl but wasn't nearly as adept at small-talk as Milly and it was an awkward few moments' silence before the other girl, thankfully, spoke first.
"Hey, uh..." She paused, clearly waiting for Meryl's name.
"Meryl."
"Paige."
Whoops.
"Are you okay?" Paige asked her. The girl looked genuinely concerned. "Did a John do that to you?"
For a moment Meryl was completely bewildered.
Oh. The eye.
"Yeah," said Meryl, deciding that an abusive after-hours client actually made for a simpler story than the truth. "Yeah. It's been kind of a rough week," she sighed. To her surprise, the taller girl reached low around Meryl's waist and pulled her into a sideways embrace as they walked.
"I'm sorry babe," Paige said, bending slightly to rest her cheek on Meryl's head. "Those assholes are the worst. You ever see him again, I want you to kick him right in the jewels. Twice, for me." She squeezed Meryl's waist a little more and kissed the top of her head before releasing her.
Meryl could tell from just this small interaction that the same level of closeness and comfort was entirely the norm for these women, that the stewardesses had a close bond across their profession that extended even to the newest, unknown members.
Down in the belly of the steamer there was plenty of camaraderie to be had as well, but if you needed comforting you were more likely to get a playful punch in the arm than any kind of embrace.
"Oh, that smells amazing!"
Milly practically skipped the last few steps into the mess hall, and Meryl, Allie, and Page followed, sharing a grin at Milly's enthusiasm.
The room was just as Meryl remembered it; crowded at this hour, with nearly all of the closely-packed tables occupied. Boiler men in coal-blackened coveralls sat next to scullery maids, bridge crew talked animatedly to casino waitresses, girls from housekeeping laughed alongside stewards. All levels of crew intermixed and mingled, and the noise of conversation was loud and happy.
The mess hall was adjacent to the kitchens, and the shared wall had a pass-through where crew could line up and choose from all the breakfast dishes the cooks had offer. Milly was already at the end of the line with two trays, gesturing for Meryl to hurry up and join her.
At the smell of freshly cooked bacon, Meryl's stomach growled fiercely and she put nearly a dozen thick slices on her plate. Milly laughed at her, but when Meryl turned to stick her tongue out at the younger woman, she caught sight of Clark standing at the back of the room, near a table that was too full to seat him.
"Finish this plate for me, would you?" Meryl told Milly, sliding her tray over so she could duck out of line. "You pick whatever, I trust you," she called, when Milly asked what she wanted.
Picking her way across the room, Meryl squeezed between packed tables until she reached Clark's side. She bumped her shoulder into his elbow to get his attention, and he looked down in obvious surprise.
"Hey," he said, in greeting. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Oh, thanks," said Meryl, taking a step back, crossing her arms and scowling.
"No, I mean, I thought the passengers were long gone by now," explained Clark. "As in, 'What the hell are you still doing here?' "
Meryl's scowl turned to a grimace. "It's a long story. How are repairs going?" she asked, interestedly. "I hear she's too badly damaged to finish the trip."
"Yes," said Clark. "But..." He paused, wagging a finger and inclining his head. "Not as badly as you'd think."
Meryl raised an eyebrow in return. "Do tell."
"Turns out the engines and brakes are still in pretty good shape, it's just the relays to the bridge controls that need fixing," Clark told her. "We actually stopped before the emergency brake was pulled, so the rear axle is still intact."
"How?" demanded Meryl, shocked.
"That big lurch we felt at the end was just that lunatic BDN trying to stop the steamer by himself. Side-swiped us with that gigantic roadster of his, drove us right into the cliff side. The only real damage was the starboard hull where—well, basically a huge section is just gone, peeled right off in that last scrape."
"Ah," said Meryl, not sure what else to say. "I see."
"Seriously, though, why are you here?" Clark asked. He gestured at her black eye, saying, "Everything okay? I didn't get the chance to ask earlier; you want to explain that shiner?" Meryl reflexively reached up to gingerly touch the area with just the tips of her fingers.
"No. Long story. But I'm fine," Meryl told him. "My partner and I will probably pack up and head out this morning, after breakfast."
" 'Partner,' huh?" Clark said, smirking. "Is that what kids are calling it these days?"
"What?" asked Meryl, baffled at this comment.
"I was wondering who he was," Clark teased. "He obviously—"
"Vash?" Meryl squawked in sudden comprehension. "No! What? I meant her." She turned and pointed across the room at Milly, who was still selecting breakfast plates at the pass-through. "For work, she's my work partner! Vash isn't—anything! He's nobody!"
"Rrrrright," said Clark slowly, giving Meryl an exaggeratedly skeptical look. "Because that's how you react to 'nobody.' "
Meryl tried to suppress a scowl and a blush, and, upon failing both, turned on her heel. "Shut up. I'm leaving. Good luck with repairs."
Clark laughed as she walked stiffly away. "Good to see you again," he called after her.
"Shut up!" she called back.
Milly met her halfway across the room, offering one of two breakfast trays piled high with food (Meryl was pleased to see each had a substantial stack of bacon). "Who was that?" asked Milly.
"An old friend," Meryl told her. "We worked together, back in my steamer days." When Milly looked troubled, Meryl half-expected the younger woman to try bringing up the subject of Meryl's past again, but when Milly spoke it was in honest concern.
"Are you alright, Ma'am?"
"I'm fine," said Meryl, wondering why Milly would be so worried. Her conversation with Clark had ended in a minor tiff, mostly teasing, but it wasn't anything to get upset about. Then she noticed that the tray was trembling in her hands. "Oh," she said, suddenly realizing how taxing the whole breakfast adventure had become. After being bedridden for a week, taking several flights of stairs—hell, just being upright—was sapping all her energy.
"Let's get back to the room," Milly said. "We'll put you back to bed for a rest."
"I don't need to go back to bed," protested Meryl, though she did admit to being tired, so she led Milly out of the mess hall and toward the stairs.
"Are you able hold the tray, Ma'am?" asked Milly.
"Of course I am," Meryl said, stubbornly. She gripped it tightly and started up the first flight of stairs, ignoring the exhaustion in her biceps and trying to ignore Milly's obvious inspection of every ich of her progress.
"I can carry it for you, Ma'am," Milly offered.
"I'm fine."
"I could carry you—"
"No!"
But halfway up to B deck, Meryl had allowed Milly to take the tray from her, and by the time they reached their borrowed room she was ready to collapse back into bed despite her earlier claims. She was glad when Milly didn't say anything (though she would have been easily entitled to give Meryl a well-deserved I-told-you-so). Meryl had to slump against the doorframe as she fiddled with the lock and gripped the knob tightly to steady herself as she stepped into the room.
She froze at the sight of the man sitting on the bed.
It was almost Vash.
He had Vash's jacket, Vash's hair, Vash's face; but something was missing from his eyes. They stared right through her, dull and grey and tired and empty. Meryl saw no spark of life in them at all, and it scared her.
Then Milly entered the room behind her, and the man was transformed.
"Hallo!" called Vash. He was sitting up straight, vibrant green eyes sparkling as he grinned broadly and waved enthusiastically at Milly.
Meryl was still shaken, but Milly just grinned back and said, "Hello again, Mr. Vash!"
Vash's eyes went suddenly wide as he spotted the breakfast trays she carried.
"Oooooooh!"
Milly laughed, asking, "Haven't you eaten, Mr. Vash?"
"Well, somebody's not covering their shift at the snack bar," huffed Vash, making Milly laugh again. She walked to the bed and handed Vash her tray.
"You can have mine, I'll get another one! You just look after Ma'am while I'm gone, Mr. Vash," Milly ordered. "Make sure she eats, and then take her to bed."
Vash's eyebrows jumped skyward and Meryl made a strangled noise in her throat, turning quickly to correct the younger woman, "Put her to bed, Milly! It's put—"
"Oh, my mistake, Ma'am," said Milly, still smiling brightly. She pushed the second breakfast tray into Meryl's hands as she turned to leave, saying, "I'll be right back!"
Meryl stared at the closed door, stunned, hoping against hope that she wouldn't be blushing bright red when she turned around again. Vash spoke as she was still trying to compose herself and she felt the blood drain from her face in an instant at the tone of his voice.
"You were on the S.S. Gunsmoke."
The words were as hollow and flat as the eyes Meryl had seen when she first entered the room, and she was afraid that if she turned around she would see those eyes again. When she finally dared to look back over her shoulder, Meryl was relieved to see it was still Vash sitting on the bed, though his expression was more solemn than she had ever seen it. She set her breakfast tray on the desk by the door and walked across the room to sit in the chair opposite him.
"Yes."
"Tell me what happened."
The words were quiet, but clearly more forceful than just a simple request. He was the man in red now, demanding answers.
"You first," Meryl countered, watching him carefully.
For an instant Vash's eyes flashed that hard, dangerous edge, and Meryl tensed. Then he gave her a goofy smile that never reached quite far enough to soften those eyes, and he picked up a slice of bacon from the tray in his lap.
"I was running away," he said, shrugging as he crunched into the bacon. "Bounty hunters were tailing me, and I managed to hop a steamer as it was leaving. I thought I lost them, but they made it on, too, and caught up with me. So I kept running, and I tried to hide in a closet, except it turned out to be the bridge, not a closet, which, if you think about it," he added, with an exaggerated contemplative expression, "is really pretty poor design. I mean, if the bridge door can be so easily mistaken for a closet door—"
"Vash," Meryl said quietly, almost sad to put an end to the aside, forced though the humor had been. He sobered with a grimace and set the breakfast tray on the floor.
"They came in, guns blazing, before I could stop them," said Vash. "They injured most of the crew and destroyed half the control panels. I..." He seemed to be looking for the right word, and when he said, "Subdued them," Meryl thought of any number of similar situations: Schezar, hogtied and gagged; Supposed-Vash and his gang, seat-belted into a crippled convertible. It was an entirely inappropriate time for the giggle bubbling up in her throat at the images those memories conjured, and Meryl forced it down before it could escape.
"I tried to help the wounded among the crew," Vash went on, "but they were more concerned with the steamer than they were with their own injuries. Something was wrong, and the brakes were out, but I never really knew..." His story trailed off, and Meryl offered up the missing information.
"There was a rockslide on the route," she told him. "With no way to stop the steamer, they had to take her up on the ridge to avoid it. Steamers have a hard enough time with slight elevation changes, much less steep slopes at full speed across unsteady terrain. They were trying to steer away from the edge that was already crumbling into the rockslide up ahead, but something this size has a lot of weight and momentum. It doesn't turn easy."
Vash nodded, going pale. "The captain told me there was an emergency brake, and where to find it. He told me I had stop the steamer before the shear could tear it apart. I thought that's what happened. I thought I just got to the brake too late and it split from the strain like he warned, and the front of the steamer went down when the ridge collapsed under it."
Vash bent forward, putting his head in his hands. "But I caused it," he whispered, and Meryl's heart sank.
"No," she said, quickly. "You didn't."
"It could have stopped, or steered clear," said Vash, shaking his head at the floor. "If I hadn't ripped it apart."
"No," Meryl said, again. She stood, moving from her chair to the bed, though Vash seemed to take no notice of her when she sat down beside him. "It wouldn't have done either." Impulsively she reached out to pull Vash's hands from his face, trying to make him look at her properly, but the moment she touched his left hand Vash recoiled and pulled away, turning to glare down at her.
"You can't know that!" Vash accused. The flare of anger that had accompanied his expression fled an instant later and he looked weary again, saying, "Half the people on that steamer died because of me."
"Vash, half the people on that steamer lived because of you," Meryl argued. She was trying not to feel hurt by his reaction to her touch, but still wanted him to stop burying himself under pointless guilt, and added, "Including the both of us."
For a time Vash said nothing, and Meryl hoped it had been enough to lessen the burden of responsibility and blame she had seen in his eyes when he first told her he'd been the one to pull the brake.
"But not him," said Vash, finally, and for a moment Meryl didn't understand. "Whoever you lost..." His voice trailed off and he looked back to the floor. "I let him die."
Meryl stiffened.
Alex.
Then she realized Vash was echoing her own earlier words to Clark: I let him die.
She wondered if they had sounded as stupid in her mouth then as they did in Vash's now.
"Of course you didn't," she told him, the tension in her body releasing with a sigh. She shifted on the bed, turning slightly to better face him. "Everything from the moment you pulled the brake was out of your control, and none of it was your fault. Not the rockslide, not the bridge controls, not the split, and certainly not..."
Meryl's words trailed off with a sigh and a grimace. She looked away.
"Not what?" Vash asked, quietly.
"Not him," said Meryl. "It's not your fault he died." She cleared her throat, recognizing the tightening there as a warning of oncoming tears, and she was determined to hold them back at all costs. Meryl was so focused on this task that her next words came entirely unexpectedly, even to her. "It's mine."
Startled, Meryl looked up again and saw her own surprise mirrored in Vash's expression. Her mouth fell open slightly, but nothing else came out. She quickly pressed her lips together again, but she watched the look on Vash's face change to a half-pained mix of sadness and sympathy, and when he asked her, "What happened?" Meryl found herself compelled to answer.
"He was in the engine room when the Gunsmoke split," she said, marveling that once again she was inexplicably telling Vash more than she intended. She knew it was happening, but still couldn't stop herself and she felt a long-forgotten but all too familiar guilt begin gnawing at her stomach as she recounted the story. "They weren't..." Meryl swallowed, hard, and shook her head. "There wasn't even enough left to bury. And it's my fault he was there. He wasn't supposed to be there."
Vash's eyebrows knit together in slight confusion but Meryl could guess his next question and continued without prompting, grief and guilt rising in her throat.
"He was there because I wasn't," she said, her voice tremulous. She looked away again to keep Vash from seeing her start crying, and her stomach twisted in disgust and self-hatred at what came next. "He was there because I was too busy fucking his best friend to show up for my shift, and he took it instead. He was there because we had some ridiculous fight and I was sixteen and stupid and spiteful and I wanted to hurt him."
Tears came abruptly in a sharp sob and Meryl covered her face with both hands, the ache in her chest more than she could bear.
"I wanted to hurt him, and instead I got him killed," she sobbed. "I got him killed."
Through her agonized weeping Meryl felt gentle fingers encircle her wrists and pull her hands away, then warm leather-clad palms framing her face to turn her gaze back up to meet Vash's. He looked down at her with an equally gentle, warm, sincere expression and said, "No, you didn't."
Meryl just cried harder, closing her eyes and leaning forward to press her face into Vash's shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her as best he could.
"No, you didn't," he told her again, and she didn't argue because she wanted so badly to believe him. "You didn't." Meryl didn't know what she would have done if Vash had said, "I did," and was glad when they just sat together in silence, save her quiet sobbing into his collar.
It was an awkward embrace, each only half-facing the other with their butting knees impeding any real closeness, but Meryl found it comforting all the same. Vash's left arm was heavy around her shoulders like the familiar weight of her own cloak and his right hand moved to settle at the curve of her jaw, his long fingers curling around to thread through the short hairs at the back of her neck. Meryl couldn't reach nearly far enough to put both arms around his back so she just took handfuls of the fabric of his jacket and pulled herself as close to his chest as she could, wondering why this felt so... right.
They had shared a moment like this only once before, that awful night in Inepril, when he had wrapped her in his jacket and then in his arms, and it felt as natural now as it did then and she still didn't understand why.
"You can't keep blaming yourself for this," Vash told her, breaking this train of thought. Meryl could feel warm breath in her hair when he spoke. "It's too heavy a burden to carry. You have to leave it behind or it will break you, you can't carry it forever."
"But you can carry half a steamer?" Meryl asked, the words muffled by the heavy fabric of Vash's jacket. It came out sounding sarcastic and accusing when she hadn't meant it to be either, and she regretted the question altogether. Before she could form an adequate apology, Vash had already replied:
"I can carry the world."
There was so much quiet misery and regret and weight to these few words that Meryl pulled away to stare up at Vash in shock. He released his hold on her and for a moment there were pained, slate-grey eyes looking back down at her. Then Vash tried for a light-hearted smile and matching voice as he said, "I mean, I've had plenty of practice," as though somehow that would make this claim any less awful.
"No you can't, Vash," Meryl told him, and he looked almost confused at her refusal. "You can't. That's too much for anyone, and it's not yours to carry. Not the world, not the Gunsmoke, and certainly not Alex."
"Alex," Vash said, unexpectedly loud and wide-eyed, recoiling away from her. Meryl was completely baffled by the vehemence of his reaction but didn't have time to ask for an explanation before the door opened and Milly appeared, holding a third breakfast tray.
"I'm back, Ma'am, Mr. Vash!" Milly called happily. Her ever-pleasant expression faltered slightly into concern as she caught Meryl's eye. She could obviously tell Meryl had been crying, and now she turned narrowed eyes on Vash. He seemed to recognize the danger and reverted to the Idiot immediately, leaping to his feet and grinning broadly. He gave an exaggerated wave as he slipped past Milly and into the hall before she could put down the tray and reach for her stun-gun.
"Byeeeeeeee!"
Vash's farewell trailed off after him as he retreated hurriedly down the hall, the sound continuing for a good twenty seconds before cutting out somewhere in the distance.
Milly looked back to Meryl with that same look of concern, and Meryl hurriedly wiped away any remaining tears with her sleeve
"I'm fine," she said quickly, before the question could even be asked, but at these words Milly's face hardened and Meryl jumped as the younger woman very nearly slammed the breakfast tray down on the desk next to the first.
"You are not fine!" snapped Milly. "You haven't been fine since we boarded this steamer, and you're going to tell me why!"
Meryl gaped, completely taken aback by the severity of Milly's tone and expression. "Milly, I—"
Milly actually stamped her foot in her anger and Meryl felt the impact from across the room.
"Now!"