"Hey, wake up."
Something poked Meryl in the cheek. She raised a hand to swat it away and discovered she couldn't move her arms. This was enough to snap her to instant wakefulness and she struggled against her bonds for a panicked moment before she figured out what was going on.
"Gimme back my jacket," ordered Vash. He'd lain it across her body the evening before, but sometime during the night she had wriggled around enough to swaddle herself in its warmth. Now Vash tugged at the collar ("Gimme!") and Meryl did some more wriggling around to untangle herself from the garment again.
Vash stood, hunched under the low ceiling of the shuttle, and pulled on the jacket with as much of a flourish as he could manage in the limited space. One of the long back panels of the jacket slapped Meryl in the face and she pushed Vash away into the aisle. He stumbled and fell into Wolfwood's lap.
"Hey, watch it, Spikey!"
"Spikey?"
"Isn't that better than 'Broom-head'?"
"No!"
"Mr. Vash, Mr. Priest, hush!" ordered Milly, in a fierce whisper. Both men looked cowed, and hushed.
Not that it mattered; the rest of the shuttle was waking now, and Meryl finally noticed that they had actually reached civilization, somewhere. She hoped it was May City, but she wouldn't put it past the driver to get lost (again) and circle back to Inepril.
From the suns it seemed to be late morning, and Meryl looked out the window for some sign of their location. The shuttle had stopped at the outskirts of town and the driver was just getting to his feet. He rummaged around under the dashboard and pulled out a socket wrench, which he immediately started banging on the shuttle's metal frame.
"Everybody up!" he shouted. "Get the hell off my rig, I gotta make another run back here before the contest tomorr—hey, let go!"
One of the old ladies in the front seat had lunged forward to grab the man's wrist before he could do any more wrench-banging.
"Quit it!" she shrieked. "My hearing is bad enough as it is! You keep whacking that thing and I swear to god, I will skin you from nose to—"
"Enid, shush," said the other woman. She pried Enid's fingers from around the driver's wrist and he fell back against the windshield with wide eyes.
This ruckus woke any passengers lucky enough to have slept through Vash and Wolfwood bickering, and everyone began to stand and make their way to the front. Still in the aisle, Vash was carried away by those few people sitting behind them and Meryl waited for Wolfwood and Milly to rise and move forward, too.
When she stood, Meryl could feel sand everywhere. She shifted uncomfortably, every movement bringing attention to just how much of it had gotten into her clothes the day before, sticking to sweaty skin and crusting over as it dried. It was in her hair, down the back of her shirt, ground into her leggings, burying her toes in her boots... There was even sand piled up in her damn cleavage, which she tried to shake out of her bra when no one was looking.
As the last one off the shuttle, Meryl took the opportunity to sit down on the steps at the front. Vash had waited for her, and now he watched interestedly as she tugged off one boot and upended it, pouring out a small sand dune. She knocked the heel against the door a few times, accidentally scuffing the Thomas-hide in her attempt to dislodge the last of the sand, and for a moment Meryl hesitated, feeling guilty at the damage (and hoping Milly wouldn't notice later).
Eventually she continued whacking the thing on the door anyway; she just wanted empty boots. Having done the best she could to rid herself of the sand, Meryl pulled the boots back on to find that there was still enough grit stuck in her leggings to make it just as uncomfortable as before.
Meryl sighed and stood, following Vash to join the rest of the passengers on the other side of the shuttle. The driver had climbed onto the roof and was handing (throwing) people's luggage down to them. He did at least ask for the owner each time he picked something up, so he wasn't just tossing things at random. Most of the bags went in the right general direction, if perhaps at unsafe speed. The driver spotted Vash coming around the corner and stabbed a finger at him.
"Oi, you!" he shouted. "Come get this damn cross off here!" The driver tried to lift one end of the massive, shrouded cross as demonstration and couldn't manage more than a few iches before it dropped back onto the roof with a heavy clang.
"Why me?" asked Vash. He pointed at Wolfwood, who had just intercepted Milly's suitcase before it could land on the pair of old ladies standing nearby. "It's his!"
"You put it up here," said the driver, scowling. "You get it off." Vash pouted and grumbled and made his way up to the roof. He lifted the cross onto his shoulder, and then over his head.
"Hey preacher, go long!" called Vash. "I don't want to squish anyone!"
"Wait—what?" demanded Wolfwood, alarmed. Vash leaned back for the windup, took two quick strides down the length of the shuttle, and flung the cross high over the heads of the crowd. Wolfwood dropped Milly's bag and ran, hurdling a few suitcases that had landed off their mark, and he managed to catch the cross as it fell, or at least to guide it safely to the ground. Its base slammed into the dirt and Meryl thought she could feel the impact from where she stood back at the shuttle. Wolfwood shouldered the cross and stormed back toward them, shouting, "The hell is wrong with you, Broom-head?"
Vash just grinned and shrugged, jumping down from the roof. He looked like he was about to say something Idiot-ish, but the driver had launched a bag on a wonky trajectory and it struck Vash squarely in the back of the head before he could speak.
It bounced away and Vash looked more stunned than actually injured, but Milly rushed forward anyway with an anxious, "Mr. Vash!" She didn't get any further than checking him for blood before one of the old ladies—Eva?—pushed Milly out of the way to address Vash.
"Look at this," she ordered, shoving the wayward suitcase under his nose. "You dented it!"
"It dented me!" argued Vash, reaching up to rub the back of his head.
"Enid, shush, it's fine," said the other woman, pulling the bag aside. She put a hand on Vash's elbow, adding, "I'm so sorry it hit you! Are you alright?"
"I'm okay, grandma," he assured her. He grinned and rapped his knuckles on his forehead a few times. "Nothing but air up there, anyway!"
"Ha! No kidding," snorted Enid.
"Enid, shush." The other woman patted Vash's elbow, smiling, and led her grumbling companion away.
Eventually the driver picked up Meryl's suitcase and she moved a few yarz away before raising her hand, in hopes he wouldn't accidentally hit Vash again. This time his aim was pretty much dead-on, and Meryl caught the bag easily, barely staggering under its weight. She returned to Vash, Milly, and Wolfwood as the driver unloaded (hurled) the last bag and climbed down and aboard again.
The shuttle rumbled to life and sped away, and Meryl looked around for some clue as to where they had ended up. When none presented itself, she sighed and lifted her suitcase with both hands, about to suggest that they try to find lodging somewhere.
It wasn't until the shuttle had disappeared around a corner that Meryl realized her luggage felt suspiciously light; in fact, it should have flattened her, thrown from that height...
"The typewriter!" she gasped, dropping the suitcase and sprinting after the shuttle. She called back over her shoulder to Milly as she ran: "It's still under the seat!"
Unsurprisingly, Milly caught up to her in the space of one breath, and was past her just as quickly. Meryl decided there wasn't much point in continuing the chase (Milly would reach the shuttle and retrieve the typewriter and be halfway back before Meryl could even make it to the corner) so she slowed to a halt at the edge of what seemed to be the town square.
There was an awning set up against one building with a crowd beginning to form around it, and Meryl recognized some of the other shuttle passengers there. More were making their way past her and across the square and she frowned, wondering what was happening. There was a banner across the awning, but she couldn't read it from where she stood.
"Here you are, Ma'am!" Milly appeared at her side with the typewriter under one arm. "The driver wasn't very nice about stopping," she said with a frown. "What a fuss he made!"
Meryl tried to imagine the scene: Milly catching up to run alongside, waving cheerily at the driver until he stopped, or maybe just dashing ahead and stopping in front of the shuttle to wait, arms crossed and foot tapping. Either seemed plausible.
"Thanks Milly," said Meryl, smiling at the thought. She accepted the offered typewriter, then remembered she had left her suitcase behind when she dropped everything to race after the shuttle. When she turned back to retrace her steps, Vash and Wolfwood were already headed their way with extra luggage in tow.
Wolfwood presented Milly's bag to her with a lazy smile and a drawl, "Here you are, honey."
"Thank you, Mr. Priest," said Milly, going faintly pink and not quite meeting his eye as she reached out to take it from him.
Vash grinned as he handed over Meryl's bag, and she actually managed to catch it before he could drop it on her foot with an obviously insincere, "Whoops!" She scowled up at him, but Wolfwood spoke before she could threaten retaliation.
"What's going on over there?" He nodded toward the growing crowd around the awning and Vash shrugged.
"Shall we take a look?"
Meryl glanced at Milly, who also shrugged, so the four of them fell in line with the last of the passengers from the shuttle and slowly made their way toward the crowd.
A decrepit stone fountain stood at the center of the square, bone dry and long without use. The upper tier had broken in half and was resting in the bowl of the larger tier below, and all the decorative stonework around the edges was crumbling away into chunks that littered the base of the fountain.
Meryl looked up at it disapprovingly, wondering if there had ever actually been enough water for something so pointless, but Milly stopped to touch some of the remaining patterns carved into the stone, saying, "This is pretty."
When Vash and Wolfwood stopped to look, too, Meryl dropped her suitcase and moved to stand in the small bit of shade offered by what was left of the fountain.
From this distance Meryl could read the banner across the awning:
3ND ANNUAL QUICK DRAW CONTEST
A small sign with tomorrow's date hung beneath the word "3ND" and another promising the $$50,000 prize hung beneath "CONTEST".
Meryl watched a man under the awning climb up onto a chair to be seen over the milling crowd. The chair wobbled, as did the man's toupee, and he quickly flattened it in place again as he caught his balance. Then he raised his hands, calling for attention.
"Come on, settle down, settle down," he shouted. "Everybody's welcome to sign up, but would you please form a line!"
The crowd slowly reshaped itself as requested, everyone shuffling into position with a few arguments about who was where first. The toupee'ed man climbed down again and stood behind the sign-in table, now visible, as the man at the head of the line bent down and filled out an entry form.
Meryl took a moment to finally open her suitcase and stuff the typewriter back in, not much caring what she squished in the process. She looked up sharply at the sound of a familiar, shrill voice:
"Quick draw? Quick draw?"
The two old ladies from the shuttle were at the front of the line now, and the cantankerous one—Estelle?—was shaking a bony fist at the man behind the table.
"I thought this was clay pigeons!" she said. "Skeet shooting!"
Somewhere near the back of the line, someone let out a bark of laughter.
"Would that make a difference?" asked one man. "She's like a million years old!" Others in the crowd joined in, chuckling, and the woman spun around with murder in her eyes.
"Esther, give me that bag," she growled, reaching for the suitcase the other woman was holding.
"Enid, no," snapped Esther. She tried to pull the bag back and out the way but failed to stop Enid from yanking the top open and retrieving a sawed-off shotgun. Everyone within three yarz hastily backed away (the toupee'ed man ducked under the table) and the woman cocked the lever-action weapon with surprising strength and tucked the stock into her shoulder.
"Somebody throw something!"
"Enid, no!"
Meryl nearly fell backward as Vash lunged sideways, pushing her out of the way to grab a brick-sized chunk of stone from the base of the fountain. He waved it over his head, shouting, "Hey, grandma! Over here!"
Esther spotted him first, and she glared daggers across the square, shrieking, "No! Don't encourage her!"
But it was too late. Vash had already flung the stone high in the air with a gleeful, "Pull!"
Enid turned and brought the shotgun's shortened barrel up to aim, tracking the arc of the stone with one eye squinted against the suns overhead. She pulled the trigger and the recoil nearly knocked her on her ass, but the stone exploded into dust and small chunks that rained down on the area around the fountain. Meryl got grit in her eye and she blinked rapidly, trying to pick it out.
"Nice one, grandma!" whooped Vash.
"Yes, well, it's not clay pigeons," snapped Esther. She seized the shotgun and stuffed it back into the suitcase. "Let's just go home."
"Hell with that," said Enid, rubbing her hands together. "Let's stick around to watch! Anyone taking bets yet?"
"We don't even have a roster yet." The toupee'ed man crawled out from under the table, looking exasperated. "Would you just move, and let the actual contestants sign up?" Enid shot him a dirty look, but Esther took her by the hand and towed her out of the square.
Meryl looked at the size of the crowd and pictured another shuttle-load arriving in the morning. The town was probably already swarming with contestants lusting after that $$50,000, and more would be coming right up until the tournament started.
"Let's find somewhere to stay," she said, still rubbing at the grit in her eye. "Fast."
They had to ask directions three different times just to find an inn that wasn't already full, and when they finally turned up at a narrow mom-and-pop place squeezed in between two banks, they filed inside to find a single room with a set of stairs leading up to the left and a wizened old man in suspenders napping in an armchair against the opposite wall. No front desk, no bell, no indication whatsoever of how to proceed.
After a confused moment, Milly whispered, "Is he the innkeeper?"
"Maybe?" Meryl whispered back. "I guess we should ask..."
"Hey, grandpa!" barked Wolfwood. Milly gave him a reproachful look, but it had done the trick. The old man jerked awake, rubbing his eyes. One of the suspenders slid off a bony shoulder and the man hitched it up into place with shaking fingers.
"Hmm?"
"Here for rooms?" prompted Wolfwood.
"Oh, of course." The man stood, clearing his throat. It was phlegmy and loud and took some time to clear properly, but he smiled as Meryl and Milly approached. He moved to meet them, shuffling slowly across the worn carpet.
"We'd like—um," Meryl hesitated as the man continued to shuffle past them toward the stairs. "...two rooms?"
"Yes, yes," he said, waving a frail hand over his shoulder. The suspender on the opposite side slid down and he paused to hike it up again. Eventually he reached a glass cabinet set into the wall near the stairs and drew a ring of keys from his back pocket. They jingled in time with the shaking of his hands as he held them up just iches from his nose. He squinted, chose one, and tried it in the cabinet lock.
When it didn't turn, the man withdrew the key and pulled the ring back up for inspection.
"Dear Lord," muttered Wolfwood. Milly frowned back at him.
Three keys later the cabinet opened and the man retrieved two more keys, these each attached to a short length of Thomas-hide. He carefully locked the cabinet again, tucking the ring of keys back in his pocket, and turned to offer Meryl—or Milly, the direction of his gaze was anybody's guess—what she assumed were the actual room keys.
"Two rooms," agreed the man, nodding. He quoted a price and Meryl frowned.
"That's a little expensive, don't you think?"
Milly elbowed her gently in the side and Meryl wheezed, almost doubling over.
"Both have attached bathrooms," he explained, smiling toothily. Meryl collected herself and nodded, impressed. She hadn't expected such a luxury in a place this small, but she gave a sigh of relief all the same.
"Thank god," she breathed. "I need a bath."
"Well, I wasn't going to say anything," said Vash, nowhere near sotto voce. Wolfwood snorted a laugh and Milly's accompanying cough sounded suspiciously like a muffled giggle. Meryl didn't bother turning to face any of them and Milly handed the necessary cash to Meryl over her shoulder.
"You girls are lucky," said the man, holding out the room keys. Meryl traded the money for them, waiting to be certain he had a firm grip on the cash before letting go. He tucked the bills carefully into his shirt pocket (twice failing to move one of the suspenders out of the way first), and said, "People have been showing up all week. You two probably got the last rooms in town."
"Hey, wait," protested Wolfwood. He hooked a thumb at Vash and asked, "What about us?" The old man was already shuffling back to his armchair and he looked up, startled, as though he had only just realized they were there.
"Oh, it's alright, Mr. Priest," said Milly, turning to smile sunnily at him. "There's room for all of us if we double up and share!"
Wolfwood's eyebrows rose and a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"You and me, honey?" he asked. Milly's eyes went wide.
"Oh, no, I didn't—I mean, that's not—no," Milly spluttered, panicking. "That's not what I—no, with Ma'am, I meant with Ma'am."
"Her and me?" Wolfwood's grin was in full force now and Vash was smothering a smile.
"Enough," said Meryl, glowering at Wolfwood. She shoved one of the keys into his chest and steered an increasingly flustered Milly away by the elbow, heading for the stairs. She looked back over her shoulder, calling, "And you owe me for that room!"
Milly practically vaulted the first flight of stairs in her embarrassment and Meryl had to hurry to catch up.
"Wait, we don't know where our room is," Meryl pointed out. She paused at the second-floor landing to examine the key and it took her a few moments to find a number embossed in the cracked old Thomas-hide. It looked like there used to be some kind of paint in the impression, a little sliver of gold at the edge of what Meryl was pretty sure was a 2, and eventually she concluded that the number was 322.
Meryl led Milly up another flight of stairs and down a surprisingly long hall—this place was a lot bigger than it looked from the outside!—and around a corner. They found their room near the end of that hall and Meryl stuck the key in the lock, holding her breath (she was pretty sure it said 322), and the doorknob turned easily under her hand.
The bed inside was small, but the two of them had shared smaller in the past. Meryl let her suitcase thump to the floor on her preferred side of the bed and went to investigate the attached bathroom. It was barely big enough to fit toilet, tub, and sink, and that was with half the tub actually tucked under the sink. Meryl couldn't care less. She drew a bath immediately.
"Mind if I take first crack at the tub, Milly?"
"Go for it, Ma'am!"
Meryl hurriedly shed boots and clothing (and sand, lots of it) as the tub filled. The temperature never rose past lukewarm, but it was still glorious to step into the water and sit down and shake off god knows how many days' sweat and grime.
She lay for a long while with her head just resting on the edge of the tub, but eventually Meryl let herself sink down under the water.
For a split-second, she panicked; she was buried in sand, in the smothering dark. But then that moment passed, and she could see light filtered through her eyelids, feel the natural buoyancy of the water supporting her instead of crushing her.
Experimentally, she held her breath as long as she could without resurfacing...
It wasn't very long.
When she came up for air, Meryl's hair was plastered to her skull and she had to scrub it out of her eyes with one hand. She tugged a forelock out straight and frowned when it came down well past her nose.
"Hey, Milly?" called Meryl, through the bathroom door. Milly's reply was immediate, if muffled.
"Yes, Ma'am?"
"Would you give me a haircut when I get out?"
"Of course, Ma'am!"
Belatedly, Meryl realized she hadn't brought any of her toiletries with her in the earlier rush to bathe.
"Ah... could you also bring me my shampoo?"
Milly laughed. Meryl could hear the zipper on her suitcase, and from the exasperated, "Good grief," that followed, she guessed that Milly was unimpressed by the organization (or lack thereof) inside.
A moment later Milly knocked lightly on the door before letting herself in. She spotted Meryl's clothes first, cast off and strewn across the floor, and she clucked her tongue.
"Here, Ma'am." She handed Meryl her shampoo and a bar of soap before stooping to collect the clothes, shaking sand out into the trash bin behind the door.
"You don't have to do that!" said Meryl, sitting up and trying to wave her off. "I'll take care of it when I get out!"
"You don't want to deal with dirty laundry just out of the bath, Ma'am," argued Milly. "You'll only get yourself all sandy again!" She folded the bathmat in half and carried it to the trash, shaking out what sand Meryl had left there, too. She replaced the mat next to the tub, straightening it with her foot as she offered, "If it makes you feel better, I'll just dump them on the floor again out there and you can sort them out later."
"Thank you?"
Milly just smiled and let herself out.
Meryl ducked under the water again and vigorously ruffled her hair to be absolutely certain there was no sand left stuck in there. When she discovered she had to use more of her precious shampoo than usual, just to wash all that unwanted length of hair, she scowled and vowed never to wait so long between haircuts again.
She made a thorough scrub of her body with the bar of soap, relishing the smooth, clean skin left in its wake, and spent another few leisurely minutes floating in the water as it started to cool. When she stood and stepped out onto the bathmat, she was impressed—and disgusted—by how much sand and grit and other filth lay at the bottom of the tub.
Hurriedly Meryl drained both water and detritus, washing the last of it down the drain with more water from the tap, leaving the tub clean for Milly.
She pulled a waiting towel from a shelf nearby and wrapped it around her body, drying herself quickly before returning to the main room. Milly tossed a shirt at her head as she entered and Meryl managed to catch it without losing her grip on the towel.
They had long ago decided it wasn't really worth getting dressed properly for a haircut (Meryl would just end up with trimmings caught in all her clothes), so Milly always lent one of her own blouses as a makeshift barber's cape. Easier to shrug out of it after, and shake all the loose hair into the trash.
So Meryl tossed the towel on the bed and donned only the large shirt and a pair of underwear, returning barefoot to the bathroom to frown at the mess of her hair in the mirror. Milly appeared in the reflection behind her and threw the discarded towel over her head, rubbing hard enough to send Meryl off-balance in the effort to give her hair a more thorough drying.
"I thought you were getting kind of shaggy," Milly commented. When she released Meryl again, her dark hair was even more a mess, stuck up every which-way.
Meryl scowled at her reflection now, muttering, "Stupid hair. There's a cowlick in the back and it never lays flat and the bangs are too long again an hour after you cut them." She sighed, shoulders slumping. "Maybe I should just shave it all off."
"Well," said Milly, judiciously. "Why don't we just get you the trim, and then see how you feel."
Meryl couldn't help laughing and Milly grinned at her in the mirror, drawing a comb from her pocket to begin picking at any wet hair that managed to snarl into knots as it dried. When it all finally lay flat, she combed the front down over Meryl's eyes and turned her blindly by the shoulders. Meryl puffed a breath and the fringe fluttered.
"Stop that," chided Milly. "I have scissors now."
Dutifully, Meryl stood still as Milly measured hair between long fingers. Snip, snip, snip, went the scissors, and soon Meryl could see again. Milly smiled at her and turned Meryl back to face the mirror.
She continued trimming, deft hands carding through Meryl's hair as she worked, and Meryl let herself zone out to the regular rhythm of the snip, snip, snip.
After a few minutes, Milly said, "I've been meaning to talk to you, Ma'am." Meryl zoned back in again, eyebrows raised.
Milly's eyes were still fixed on the back of Meryl's head, and her tone had been as light and friendly as usual, but there was something else in her voice, too.
"Oh?" Meryl tried to keep her reply equally casual. "What's up?"
"I've been worried about you," Milly admitted.
"Oh, I'm alright." The answer came automatically before Meryl really thought about it and Milly glanced up for a moment to catch her eye in the mirror.
"Really, though."
"Oh," said Meryl, again. "I'm... I am alright, I promise. I'm just tired."
"That's understandable," said Milly, turning her attention to her work again. "You've had a rough time of things lately. But frankly, Ma'am, I've been a little concerned with your behavior."
Meryl swallowed hard and managed another, weak, "Oh?"
"Yes." Milly's answer was firm, and though she didn't look up again, the snip, snip, snip of the scissors came a little more decisively. "You've been..."
Meryl watched Milly's lips purse in the mirror as she chose her words, finally saying, "Getting reckless. You've never been one to stand idly by when someone is in danger or needs help, Ma'am, but lately you've been going beyond what you usually deem reasonable. Especially in regard to the parameters of our job here."
Snip, snip, snip.
"Our assignment is to keep an eye on Mr. Vash, and try to keep him out of trouble. And, failing that, to mitigate the outcome of whatever incident follows. But lately," Milly gave an exasperated huff, "Mr. Vash gets into trouble and you go chasing after him!"
Another snip, snip, snip, and a slightly harder tug on the next lock of hair.
"And you know I like Mr. Vash, Ma'am, but that's not your job. We have a responsibility to others, to protect the innocent bystanders that get caught up in the crossfire. And..."
Milly took a deep, steadying breath, and a slow snip, snip, snip accompanied the exhale before she settled her hands on Meryl's shoulders and finally met her gaze in the mirror over her head.
"And you have a responsibility to me, Ma'am. I'm your partner, and you haven't been treating me fairly."
Meryl's insides squirmed with guilt and she tried not show any outward discomfort.
"I know you're my superior, but you act without consulting me, or even telling me what you're doing. Yesterday, you left the shuttle without telling me, after saying you wouldn't. That's not fair, and it's not safe. I would never have known you were gone if that little girl hadn't come back saying you went running off to look for Mr. Vash and Mr. Priest." Here Milly fixed Meryl with a particularly stern look, adding, "She also said you used some really inappropriate language for around children, Ma'am."
Meryl was sufficiently chastised not to laugh at this, and Milly returned her attention to her work.
Snip.
"You weren't always this reckless, Ma'am," sighed Milly. "I just want you to consider your actions a little more carefully—preferably before acting—and to keep in mind that you have me here, to help, or to delegate. You just have to tell me."
Snip.
"And you may be cranky about that tracker in your boot," she added, frowning. "But if I hadn't put it there, you and Mr. Vash might still be down in that ship."
Snip.
Meryl felt queasy again, for an entirely different reason. She swallowed hard, feeling guilty and utterly miserable.
Forget the kicked-puppy look, this was like getting kicked by the puppy...
"I'm sorry, Milly," she said, finally. "You're right. I'll try to be more mindful in future, and I'll be a better partner to you."
Milly just smiled her usual smile, as if she hadn't just reprimanded her partner to within an ich of her life, and finished her work with one last snip, snip, snip. She combed out Meryl's hair, checking that it was even in length and symmetrical in the mirror.
"Well, I couldn't find the razor," Milly told her. "But I really need to clean up the back of your neck. You've got wispies all over the place!" Meryl reached back to touch the offending tufts of hair, small and soft and uneven. Milly sighed. "I'll go see if I can borrow one. Stay put!"
"Yes, Ma'am," agreed Meryl. Milly grinned over her shoulder as she left the bathroom, and Meryl tried for a smile more sincere than she really felt.
Milly had been subtle enough in her reproach, but what wasn't said was still pretty clear. "You weren't always" really meant, "You weren't before Vash." And it was all the more galling, because she was right. A few months ago, Meryl Stryfe would never go running headlong into danger with no plan and no thought to the consequences...
But Vash the Stampede sure as hell would, and somehow he made it so easy to follow him. To fall in stride with that confidence, with the surety of his will and determination. To get caught up in it, in him, when he faced down giants and madmen and managed such incredible, impossible things, when he was the man in red.
And also, though Meryl hated to admit it, when he wasn't. When he was bright eyes and easy smiles, soft words and gentle hands... But getting caught up in that Vash was an entirely different problem, one she wasn't really willing to put too much thought into, right now.
Meryl bent over the sink and splashed cool water over suddenly warm cheeks. When she stood up again, Vash's reflection was grinning at her in the mirror over her head and she made an undignified, startled squawk noise.
"Jesus, do you knock?" she demanded, turning to face him. Vash just shrugged.
"The door was open."
"No it wasn't!"
Vash's Idiot grin softened as his gaze fell to her shoulders.
"You're all fuzzy," he noted. Meryl glanced down to see dark flecks of hair scattered across the faded yellow shirt she wore.
"I got a haircut," she explained, trying unsuccessfully to brush away some of the trimmings. Vash's broad hands moved to replace hers, sweeping across her shoulders. When he also had no luck, he frowned and brushed harder at the fabric. The top three buttons of the shirt popped open under the strain and he nearly dragged it off her shoulders and down her arms.
Meryl—sans bra—squeaked a protest and pulled the shirt closed over her chest again. She scowled up at him, expecting yet another Idiot grin and a laugh (and maybe a chagrined and unfelt apology, if she was lucky), but Vash just frowned again and reached out with his left hand, managing to slip past hers and under her collar before she could stop him.
Her breath caught in her throat as he traced the length of her right clavicle, leather-clad fingertips just ghosting along her skin until they found a small knot of scar tissue near the joint at her shoulder.
"What's this?" Vash asked in a murmur, brow furrowed as he traced the shape of the old scar there, the small circle of a bullet's entry wound.
"It's—" Meryl stopped short with a tremulous laugh and finally caught her breath again. Vash met her eye curiously and she said, "What does it look like? I carry around fifty pistols for this job and you think no one has ever gotten a lucky shot off?"
"Well, yeah, I guess," Vash allowed. His gaze moved to her skin again as his fingers curled over her shoulder to find the corresponding scar from the exit wound on her back. "But this is a precision shot," he went on, sounding almost impressed. "There wouldn't be any lasting damage, but your arm must have been paralyzed for months."
Meryl's whole body tensed in remembered panic and pain and fear and she twisted away from Vash's hand, staggering back into the sink. She clutched her right arm tightly to her chest, digging the fingernails of her left hand into the flesh of her forearm—it hurts, it hurts, it hurts—just to be sure it was there.
A touch on her shoulder, her other shoulder, brought Meryl abruptly back to the present, shaking and breathless as Vash watched her face carefully.
"Are you alright?"
It took Meryl a moment to find her voice, and suddenly she was shouting, "I'm fine! It's nothing! I just got shot, okay?"
Vash nodded, hands out in a placating gesture as he stepped back a pace. "Okay."
"Ma'am, are you talking to someone?"
Attention diverted, Meryl looked past Vash to see Milly peer around the bathroom door with a curious expression. Curiosity turned to shock and Milly shrieked a piercing staccato: "Mis-ter-Vash!"
Vash jumped and spun and Milly strode forward to grab him by the scruff of the neck, almost lifting him off his feet.
"You can't be in here!" she hissed. "Ma'am hasn't got any pants on!"