A/N: I'm posting a few days later than planned according to the quarterly schedule, which is a bummer, as this is broadly meant as an exercise in reasonable time management, and not, y'know, finishing the final draft at 4am the night before posting (or a couple days later than that, even), which totally isn't what happened this time, I swear.

Thanks so much for your patience, and I'm glad you're all still enjoying this craziness with me. Next chapter is due on New Years, so here's wishing you the best in whatever holidays you may prefer to celebrate between now and then! I'm basically obsessed with pumpkin carving so I'm looking forward to Halloween next, myself. I might put some pictures up on my Buy Me a Coffee page (/SWPPlus) if people are interested.

Anyway, enjoy!

Episode 10, Quick Draw; Part 2

Vash managed to get one good glance down at all of Meryl that wasn't covered by the long shirt ("Ooh!") before Milly dragged him out of the bathroom by his jacket's high collar. She practically hurled Vash into the hall, slamming the door behind him and shouting through it: "You should be ashamed of yourself!"

Meryl hurriedly buttoned the top of the shirt again before Milly could see it and assume... what? That Vash had been getting fresh? Or that Meryl been getting... reckless.

Milly returned to the bathroom, asking worriedly, "Are you alright, Ma'am? You sounded so mad..."

"Oh, yeah," said Meryl. She remembered shouting, now, but that had been blind panic. She didn't even remember what she'd said. "He, uh... made fun of my haircut," she added. Milly looked affronted.

"Well, now I'm mad. It looks just fine!"

"It looks wonderful," Meryl assured her, and Milly smiled again.

"Thank you, Ma'am." She held up a battered old straight razor, saying, "Now let's finish up those wispies."

"Found a loaner?" asked Meryl, turning to face the mirror again.

"It's the innkeeper's," Milly said, nodding. "He let me borrow—oh!"

Meryl glanced back over her shoulder. Milly had opened the razor to find just a sliver of a blade, sharpened so many times over so many years that it was worn down to a thin strip of metal barely the width of Meryl's pinkie.

"It's so old!" said Milly, startled.

"So's the innkeeper," Meryl pointed out. Milly gave her a quelling look, then tested the edge on a fingernail.

"Well, it's sharp enough, at least. Face forward, and let's finish up."

Meryl did so, and after a quick bit of lather at the neckline, Milly carefully trimmed and tamed anything left out of place. She toweled Meryl's neck clean and chirped, "All done!"

"Thanks, Milly," said Meryl, reaching back to feel the perfectly straight edge where hair met bare skin. "There's no way I'd be able to do all this on my own."

"Good heavens, no!" said Milly, appalled. "I wouldn't let you anywhere near a razor." After a moment's indignation, Meryl had the good sense not to argue. Milly put away all haircut accoutrements and produced her own soap and shampoo. "My turn for the bath!"

Meryl just nodded and left the bathroom to get dressed properly. At the last second she turned back, saying quickly, "I didn't use all the hot water, I swear."

Milly had just turned on the tap and her eyes narrowed in suspicion as she ran a hand under the water.

"No, I mean, there wasn't any to start with!" she explained. "All I got was kinda lukewarm."

"I'm the youngest of ten," Milly reminded her, dryly. "Lukewarm is a luxury."

Meryl grinned and returned to the main room, pulling the large blouse off over her head, inside-out, to trap all the hair trimmings until she could shake it out in the bathroom trash bin.

For the short time it had taken to finish her haircut, the earlier exchange with Vash had been driven from Meryl's mind. It returned now as she dressed, noticing for maybe the first time that the worn strap of her bra settled naturally over the scar on her shoulder, bisecting it nearly perfectly. Meryl touched the scar now, tracing its outline just as Vash had.

She hadn't expected him to notice that scar, much less to recognize the extent of the injury. He was right, obviously, it hadn't left any permanent damage, but she could still remember what it felt like... when she couldn't feel anything.

Meryl flexed her arm, opened and closed her hand into a fist, feeling muscles clench and watching tendons move under her skin. The fingernails of her left hand had left deep indentations from where she had held her forearm so tightly—it hurts, it hurts, it hurts—and now she tried to rub the marks away. They remained, less red and angry, but still noticeable. Meryl pulled on her shirt, hiding the evidence under its long sleeves.

Despite Milly's earlier promise to dump Meryl's dirty clothes on the floor, she had collected them in the large canvas bag they used as a hamper; it looked like a trip to the laundry was on the schedule for the afternoon. Meryl grabbed the blouse she had discarded earlier and knocked on the open door to the bathroom.

"Milly, do you want me to come in and grab your clothes?"

"Ah, please do!"

Meryl stepped inside and had to bite back a laugh. Milly was scrunched up in the tub, her bent knees jutting up from the surface of the water as she tried to sink down far enough to duck her head under and wash her hair.

"Oh, Milly," sighed Meryl, shaking her head. "Someday we'll find you a tub long enough for those legs of yours."

"For mine?" asked Milly, laughing as she sat up again. "Just think of poor Mr. Vash!"

Meryl's brain short-circuited for a moment as she did think of Vash. In the bath. Completely nak—

"He's even taller than I am!" added Milly, interrupting that train of thought just in time.

"Yes," said Meryl, because she couldn't come up with anything else. She collected Milly's clothes (folded neatly in a stack on the sink) and fled the bathroom without even remembering to shake trimmings out of Milly's borrowed blouse. It just went into the hamper with everything else.

Once out of the bath and dressed, Milly hefted the canvas bag over one shoulder and said, "We should ask Mr. Gordon to recommend a good place for laundry." Her stomach suddenly rumbled, long and low and loud. "And for dinner," she added, weakly.

Aside from a few candy bars Vash had 'liberated' from the steamer snack bar, they hadn't had anything to eat for almost a day and a half. Milly never complained, but she had a significantly faster metabolism than Meryl and was probably starving by now.

"Who's Mr. Gordon?"

"The innkeeper," said Milly. "We need to return his razor anyway."

They found him, unsurprisingly, fast asleep in his armchair downstairs. Meryl let Milly rouse him, with a gentle shake of his shoulder that eventually turned into a near-throttling before he finally woke with a start.

"Eh?" He pulled up the suspender that had slipped down in the shaking. "Can I help you?"

"Sorry to wake you," said Milly, returning the razor to the old man. He took it in shaking fingers and managed to tuck it away into a trouser pocket.

Meryl was about to ask for directions when realized she didn't know if Gordon was his first or last name (with Milly, you could never tell). Milly spoke again before she could decide how to address the man.

"We're looking for somewhere to get our clothes laundered," she told him, gesturing to the canvas bag she held.

"Oh, go see old Blanche," he said. "She's the best in town." Meryl wondered how old this Blanche had to be, for this guy to say so. An even more wizened bag of bones?

Mr. Gordon (Meryl gave up on calling him anything else) gave them directions, based largely on landmarks they didn't know but could probably figure out.

"How about a restaurant?" asked Meryl.

"Smile Diner," said Mr. Gordon, immediately. "I sent your fellas there already." It took her a moment to figure out what he meant.

"Our wh—"

"Thank you, Mr. Gordon!" Milly said, quickly, ushering Meryl out.

Old Blanche wasn't as hard to find as Meryl had expected, though her shop was on the very edge of the other side of town. She was also definitely not a wizened old bag of bones. Old Blanche might be just as old as the innkeeper, but she had arms like steel girders, and was currently intent on her task of scrubbing what looked like an entire carpet across a heavy iron washboard.

"Miss Blanche?" asked Milly, hesitantly. The old woman's head snapped up, fixing them with a hard look. Long threads of wispy gray hair were escaping the severe bun fixed at the back of her neck and she tried to brush them out of her eyes with the back of one soapy hand.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Gordon sent us," Milly told her. "He said you were the best laundress in town."

"Mr. Gordon?" Blanche looked puzzled. "You mean Gordon Smythe?"

Ah. First name, then.

"Yes! We have some clothes to drop off, if you have the time for us," said Milly.

Blanche let the carpet slide down the washboard and slosh into the tub, gesturing for the bag Milly carried. She rummaged through their clothes and eventually pulled out the tunic Meryl had discarded earlier. After inspecting the smear of blood on the elbow, the old woman glanced up at Meryl's arm.

"You injured?"

"It's not mine."

"Been pickin' fights," said Blanche, frowning.

"No, it was a friend's," Meryl tried to explain. "I was trying to get him patched up."

"You a nurse, then?"

"No, just—look, can you get it out or not?" asked Meryl, frustrated.

" 'Course I can. Might take longer than you expect for the whole load, though," she warned. "With the damn contest tomorrow I can't run my clotheslines across the empty market like usual."

Blanche waved at the area behind her shop, and Meryl realized it wasn't the outskirts of town but a wide space for an open-air market.

"That's where the contest will be?" asked Meryl, curious.

"Yeah, not that they asked me about it," huffed the old woman. She stuffed Meryl's tunic back in the bag and hefted it with one hand, measuring the weight. "This much, plus the blood, is probably gonna run you around—"

Rapid gunfire interrupted the woman's pricing and Meryl jumped, drawing a derringer instinctively as she tried to figure out where it had come from.

"Lordy, girl, calm down," Blanche said, wearily. She hadn't even flinched. "It's just some idiot back there trying to get last-minute practice in. I've been hearing this all day, glass bottles and tin cans getting blasted to bits. At this rate there'll be nothing left to shoot at tomorrow. Folks better be drinking a lot tonight!"

Meryl holstered the pistol, but she didn't like the thought of unsanctioned shooting in the area. Bernadelli had covered tournaments like this before, and their policy would have had any guns confiscated on the way into town to keep this kind of nonsense from happening.

Not that she would have given up her cloak...

"Oh, Mr. Gordon also recommended a restaurant to us," Milly was saying. Evidently Meryl had missed Blanche's estimate, but she trusted Milly to know a reasonable price. "Can you give us directions? We're looking for Smile Diner."

The old woman's face brightened for the first time in the whole conversation.

"Oh good, he's sent you to Lori's!" said Blanche. "That poor girl could use the customers. She's been struggling ever since her husband disappeared."

Meryl's trained ear registered an insurance investigator's watchword and she frowned. "What do you mean, disappeared?"

"Disappeared, run off, what's the difference?" demanded Blanche, flapping a hand dismissively. "Seems like every time the Polo caravan comes through, people take off with no warning. Kids run away from home, vagrants move on to the next town, and lousy husbands run out on their wives, leave 'em to run a business and raise a boy all on their own. Feh!" She spat her disgust at the ground. "Shameful."

"That's awful!" said Milly, honestly upset. "I'm glad we might be able to help her, at least a little. Even if it's just dinner. We'll tip well!"

Plus, Milly was probably really, really hungry by now. They'd be dropping plenty of cash on food, Meryl was sure.

Blanche's directions were much more straightforward than Gordon Smythe's, and they let themselves through the restaurant's sliding doors a few minutes later. Meryl scanned the room for Vash and Wolfwood, as the old innkeeper had apparently sent their fellas ahead, but she didn't see any sign of them.

"Welcome!" A tall, dark-haired woman had appeared at the front counter, wiping her hands on her apron before waving them inside. "Sit wherever you like!"

There were a few other customers (probably contestants) sitting in twos or threes, and Meryl and Milly took a table near the door. After another minute or two, a young boy appeared at their table, hardly taller than the table himself, and handed them menus.

"Can I get you something to drink?" he asked, sullenly, a stark contrast to the woman's greeting earlier. He was obviously her son; he had the same sleek black hair and the same button nose. His hair was cut shaggy, stuffed under a green hat, and he was wearing an adult's apron that had been folded in half, twice, to fit him.

Like the woman's, the boy's apron had the restaurant logo on it, which Meryl couldn't quite figure out. It was a yellow circle with two dots that could have been eyes, except there was no smile there to match the diner's name. There was no mouth at all, actually.

"Drinks?" the boy prompted, again.

"Water, please!" said Milly, smiling at him. Meryl nodded, "Same." The boy ducked behind the counter, leaving only the top of his hat visible as he made his way toward the kitchen.

Meryl looked at the menu, expecting typical diner fare: eggs, bacon, toast, various hashes. Instead, it was all rice and noodle dishes, which was fine by her. Milly needed carbs, fast, and the pictures of food on the menu had Meryl's stomach rumbling now, too.

It was the woman who returned with their drinks, giving them a slightly harried smile.

"I'm sorry if Neil was rude," she said. "We have some new help, and they aren't getting along. Do you know what you'd like to eat?"

"Ramen!" said Milly. "Lots!" The woman's smile was more natural now, obviously enjoying Milly's enthusiasm.

"Salmon fried rice, please," said Meryl. The woman took their order and their menus and returned to her place behind the counter.

Meryl was sitting with her back to the kitchen, so she didn't see their meal coming a few minutes later, but Milly did.

"Mr. Vash!" she called, laughing. Meryl spun in her chair, and yes, there was an apron-clad Vash approaching their table with a plate in one hand and a massive bowl in the other.

"You're the new help?" said Meryl, incredulous.

No wonder the kid was annoyed...

"Here you are, ladies," said Vash, grinning as he placed the large bowl carefully in front of Milly.

"Mr. Vash, you can cook?" she asked, delighted.

Vash got as far as opening his mouth to reply when Wolfwood appeared at the kitchen pass-through, leaning out far enough to be heard, shouting: "He can follow a recipe!"

"Him, too?" demanded Meryl.

Vash glared back over his shoulder.

"I can—"

"Barely!"

Vash scowled and stuck his tongue out at Wolfwood, who just disappeared into the kitchen again.

"Anyway," said Vash, returning his attention to their table. He set the plate in front of Meryl, saying, "I made this for you, special." She looked up sharply, immediately suspicious.

"What's so special about it?"

"Zero stars."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You don't like spicy food," Vash explained. "Zero stars."

Meryl was startled; it was true, she didn't, but how would he know? Had they ever actually eaten a meal together?

Milly had tucked in to her own dish immediately, slurping away at the noodles, but Meryl still looked down at her plate with misgivings. She had reached for the chopsticks, then hesitated, and now she was drumming her fingers on the table instead.

This would be a perfect Idiot prank to play: claim the dish was mild, then pack it to the brim with chili sauce...

Vash's hand fell gently over hers, stilling her fingers, and Meryl glanced up. He gave her a genuine smile, but Milly was already reaching for her plate before he could say anything.

"I'll check for you, Ma'am!"

She took a larger bite than was really necessary for a taste-test, chewed for a few moments, and gave a thumbs-up.

"See?" said Vash, hands-on-hips. "Told you so!" He flounced away toward the kitchen.

The fried rice was delicious (and, as promised, not spicy at all), and Milly ordered and demolished two more bowls of ramen before Meryl could finish her meal. Vash reappeared with their bill some time later, evidently deciding he had waited long enough to be sure Milly wasn't going to order anything else.

Milly took the bill and stood, saying, "I'm going to ask for directions to a general store, too, as long as we're out running errands. We're low on first aid supplies." Meryl nodded, and followed. The woman suggested a shop around the corner, and when they moved toward the exit Vash appeared to open the door and bow them out. Wolfwood waved from the kitchen pass-through.

"I'm glad Mr. Priest and Mr. Vash were there to help out," said Milly, as she led Meryl out into the darkening streets. "Miss Blanche made it sound like she really needed it." Meryl thought the two men were probably more trouble than they were worth, but said nothing.

When they reached the general store, a bell attached to the door jingled over Meryl's head as they entered and the stocky woman at the register looked up and smiled. She put a pencil between the pages of the book she was reading and set it aside, saying, "Hello! Are you looking for anything in particular?"

"Medical supplies, please!" Milly told her.

"Right this way," said the shopkeeper, hopping down from a tall stool to lead them toward the back of the store. As they passed the register, Meryl got a glimpse of the book she had been reading, and grinned. It was one in a popular series of extremely cheesy romance novels.

Back at the office, their coworker Karen had the whole set and would occasionally read smutty passages aloud when the boss wasn't around. They were always godawful, but it never failed to make Milly blush, no matter how tame the scene might be.

At the back of the store Milly was making a lot of hmm and ah noises as she sorted through the selection of medical supplies. Meryl left her to it and wandered off looking for shampoo, though she seriously doubted she would find the kind she usually bought. She tried to decide if she should just get some anyway, in case she ran out before their travels took them to a larger town (and a fancier shop).

"Excuse me, miss?"

Meryl heard Milly's query and started wandering toward the front of the store again.

"Yes?"

"Would you happen to have any antiseptic?" asked Milly. "I didn't see any on the shelf, here."

"If it's not there, I'll have to go check in the back," said the woman, sighing. "It might take awhile, sorry. The kid that usually stocks the shelves skipped town a few months back—with an advance on his paycheck, mind you!—and I still haven't found a replacement."

"I know a couple of buffoons picking up shifts," muttered Meryl. Milly shushed her.

They waited a long time for the shopkeeper to return, but she eventually reappeared at the stockroom door holding up two bottles, calling, "I have isopropyl and peroxide. Is that what you're looking for?"

"I'll take both," said Milly, "Thanks!" She also replenished their supply of bandages and gauze, and suture thread. Neither of them had needed stitches anytime in recent memory (knock on wood), but Milly would always rather be prepared and Meryl would never argue with a medic.

They returned to the hotel and were almost back to their room when Meryl heard the sound of a door opening behind them, followed by a loud stage-whisper of, "Psst! Insurance Girls!"

They turned back to find a black-gloved hand sticking out of a room farther down the hall. The hand beckoned them over before disappearing into the room again and Milly laughed, pulling Meryl along by the arm. "Let's see what they're up to!"

Vash and Wolfwood were sitting across from each other at the small table in their room by the time they arrived, and the preacher was shuffling a battered deck of cards.

"Want me to deal you in?" he called.

"What are you playing?" Meryl asked, warily. She had only ever played poker (and poorly so) back in her steamer days.

Wolfwood glanced at Vash briefly, who just shrugged, and said, "We're open to suggestion."

After a pensive moment, Milly offered, "Old Maid?"

Meryl shot Wolfwood a look automatically, half-expecting the man to make some rude comment. Instead he looked startled, just for an instant, before smiling warmly up at Milly.

"That sounds perfect, honey," he said, and Milly beamed at him.

"I don't know that one," said Vash, puzzled.

"Oh, good!" said Milly, hurrying to sit down at the table at his left. "Then I'll trounce you, Mr. Vash!" Wolfwood gave a bark of laughter and began dealing the cards.

"My kids play this all the time," explained Wolfwood. "Doesn't mean I'm any good at it, though," he added.

Vash looked up at Meryl expectantly, gesturing toward the empty seat at his right. She took it, and when she grudgingly admitted, "I don't know it either," Vash gave her a delighted smile, which she couldn't help but return.

Milly began to explain the rules as Wolfwood produced a bottle of bourbon and poured drinks. Meryl waved him off when he reached her, and he just shrugged, pouring more into Vash's glass instead.

Old Maid sounded a lot like luck, to Meryl, but she dutifully collected her hand and started pulling out pairs, placing them face down on the table in front of her. The cards were well used, with blunted corners and varnish worn off on the long edges, and Meryl wondered how long the preacher had been using them.

Unfortunately, Meryl's luck seemed to be lousy from the beginning. Vash drew a pair from her hand almost every round, and she always seemed to draw a match for the card she had just lost. In the end, she wasn't all that surprised to be holding a queen in her last pair. She could only hope that Vash would draw it; she had a 50-50 chance of not losing, at least.

She mixed the cards up in her lap and offered them to Vash parallel to the surface of the table, so even she didn't know which was which (and thus couldn't give him any kind of unconscious clue). He picked one and grinned, matching it to his own. Meryl sighed and threw down the queen, face-up on the table.

Except it was the seven of clubs.

"What?!" Meryl lunged for Vash's last pair, snatching it from the pile before he could stop her. It was the last queen, and an ace. "That's cheating!"

"Only if you get caught," corrected Wolfwood, turning over a few mis-matched pairs of his own.

"Mr. Priest!" said Milly, aghast. Vash just laughed, despite Meryl's death-glare, and Milly sat back in her chair with her arms crossed, pouting. "If you're not going to play by the rules, I'm not going to play at all!"

"How about a different game, then?" offered Wolfwood, trying to appease Milly's frustration. "Something a little more tricky to cheat at, maybe."

"Like what?" asked Vash, skeptically. Meryl wondered if he'd be trying to trying to cheat now, just to prove the other man wrong.

"It's called Nerts," said Wolfwood.

Meryl made a face. "'Nerts'?"

"It's multiplayer solitaire on speed," Wolfwood went on, ignoring Meryl's face.

"Isn't 'multiplayer solitaire' kind of an oxymoron?" asked Milly, puzzled.

"Everyone plays their own game of solitaire in front of them, but all the aces go out in the middle for anyone to build on," explained Wolfwood. "Trouble is, we'd need another two decks, I've only got this and another one."

"I probably have one," offered Vash, reaching for his duffel.

"We have one!" said Milly, jumping to her feet.

"We do?" asked Meryl, surprised. Milly was already out the door before she could ask, "Where?"

Vash was still digging through his bag when Milly reappeared, grinning. "Brand new! We haven't had the chance to break it in yet."

"This'll be baptism by fire, then," Wolfwood told her. "It's going to go fast, and they'll probably get beat up pretty quick."

By now Vash had produced his own deck, and he tossed it to Meryl. She caught it, looking at him quizzically. "I can't shuffle," he told her.

"What makes you think I can?" asked Meryl, though she was already pulling the deck out of its box.

"You have littler hands."

"That makes it harder, you know."

Wolfwood was doing a noisy bridge shuffle in mid-air on her right, and across from her Milly had spread her (their?) deck across the whole table, mixing the cards around with sweeping gestures of her arms before collecting it into a pile and spreading it out again.

Meryl cut Vash's deck and did a perfect riffle shuffle, pleased she could still remember how. Both men looked startled, and Milly exclaimed, "Oh, wow! Nice one, Ma'am!"

"Secretly a card shark, Short-stuff?" Wolfwood raised an eyebrow.

"Definitely not!" Meryl said, remembering the loss of a month's spending money in one hand, once. "But I'm one hell of a dealer."

"Here, then," said Wolfwood, handing Meryl his second deck. She shuffled both, returning Vash's, and waited for Milly to decide hers was sufficiently randomized.

Wolfwood laid out the rules and everyone set up their own instance of modified solitaire, with four columns of one randomly dealt card and a stack of 13 cards face-down. The goal was to be the first to clear the stack of 13, using cards from the stack or from the deck (3 cards at a time) to build onto existing columns. The foundations would be out in the middle, available to all players, and points were scored by how many cards each player had played on the foundations, minus how many cards were left in their stack of face-down cards. The first player to clear their stack of 13 would shout "Nerts!" to indicate the end of the round.

Meryl thought she might have an advantage, being sober, but she was losing immediately. And despite Vash being the fastest draw on the planet, Milly was faster still, managing to slide her cards under other people's before they could place them on the piles in the middle.

The game was frenetic and loud, with laughter and swearing as piles were missed, cards slipped off the table (no one bothered to pause for their opponents to collect them), people accidentally slapped others' hands vying for the same location. Meryl wasn't drinking with the rest of them, but she was probably just as red-faced from laughing and from the exertion of trying to keep up the pace while stuck with the shortest arms at the table.

Milly took the first and second rounds and Vash managed to eke out a win in the third, leaving Meryl and Wolfwood racking up nothing but negative points between them. The game was too hectic for drinking, so those doing so would try to fill and empty their glass multiple times before the game could be reset for the next round, which led to a quick decline in everyone's faculties but Meryl's, though she continued to lose spectacularly.

When Milly cried, "Nerts!" for the fourth or fifth time, she followed it with a breathless, "Goodness, it's hot in here," and pulled her suspenders off her shoulders, starting to unbutton her shirt.

"Whoa, honey," said Wolfwood, eyes going wide in alarm. "I don't think—"

"Milly, wait!" Meryl leapt to her feet, trying to get around Vash's chair to the other side of the table, but Milly already had the collar loose enough to pull it over her head. Meryl just dived forward over Vash, only barely managing to catch the tails of Milly's shirt before the whole thing came off. She yanked down, hard, and Milly's head popped out of the collar again, looking bewildered.

Meryl's momentum should have had her somersaulting onto the floor, but hands grabbed her waist and halted her progress before she could go face-first into the carpet.

After a moment she realized that meant she was sprawled across Vash's lap, and she struggled to extricate herself before the Idiot did something inappropriate. Hell, he was so drunk she didn't trust him not to just spank her, and then she'd have to murder him, and that would certainly put a damper on the rest of the evening.

But the hands on her waist just pulled her upright and set her back on her feet.

"Good catch," said Vash, grinning broadly as he nodded at Milly.

"You too," she replied, almost confused by the lack of manhandling. His grin softened into that warm kind of smile that made her insides go gooey and acrobatic all at once, and Meryl finally realized Vash hadn't been playing the Idiot at all tonight.

Sure, he was drunk and goofy and occasionally giggling like mad, but it was all genuine smiles and honest laughter. Not a drunken Idiot, just a drunken Vash.

Across the table, Wolfwood was coaxing a puzzled Milly to pull her suspenders back up and into place on her shoulders.

"Broom-head'll open the window, honey," he said, glancing over at Vash. "That'll cool you down." Vash nodded and rose, stumbling across the room to throw the shutters wide.

"And maybe we cut back on the drinking?" Meryl suggested. Between the three of them, they'd emptied two and a half bottles already.

"Oh, spoilsport," huffed Vash, nearly missing his chair when he tried to sit down again. Meryl gave him a pointed look, but he just stuck his tongue out at her. She couldn't help the laugh this drew from her, and from the stunned look on his face after, she wondered if maybe she'd given him a gooey-insides smile.

"Let's keep playing!" crowed Milly. "I'm feeling much better!"

"But no more booze," Meryl said again, more firmly this time.

The next round had barely started when Milly abruptly slumped dead across the table, sending cards flying in every direction. For a moment they all stared, and Wolfwood grabbed her shoulder and shook it, asking sharply, "Honey? You okay?"

She just let out a thunderous snore and Vash burst out laughing. Wolfwood sat back, looking relieved.

"I guess that's bedtime," sighed Meryl. She looked at the cards scattered across the floor and added, "Sorry for the mess. Would one of you help me get her back to our room?"

Wolfwood smiled and shifted in his chair, but Vash stood first. Wolfwood gave him an irritated look, but said nothing.

"I'll take her feet," Meryl offered, but Vash just swept Milly up into a picture-perfect bridal carry, ruined only by her continued snoring. Wolfwood's frown softened into something faintly fond and amused.

"You sure you're okay to carry her?" Meryl asked Vash, doubtfully. A minute ago he couldn't make it to the window and back without falling over, and now he had six feet of unconscious boozy brunette to balance as well. He just smiled, nodding.

"I'll be fine," Vash promised, with something close to man in red confidence, and she believed him. Meryl gave Wolfwood a nod goodnight, and led Vash out into the hall.

The room she and Milly were staying in was further down the hall and around a corner. For a moment she was certain Vash was going to lose his footing trying to take the corner too fast, but they all made it safely to the room and Meryl let them in.

Vash lay Milly on the bed on her side (to hopefully ease the snoring), and Meryl pulled off Milly's boots before pulling the covers up to her chin. She followed Vash back into the hall, closing the door behind her to say goodnight.

"Thank you, for that."

Vash just nodded. Then he gave her a little half-smile and said, "She's a good girl, isn't she."

"Yeah, she is," agreed Meryl, laughing softly.

Wolfwood came around the corner then, calling, "Hey, it's bedtime for you, too, Broom-head! You need to sober up if you're gonna shoot straight tomorrow."

Meryl was tired enough that it took her a little too long to put that together.

"Wait, what?" she asked, suddenly very awake. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, I'm entered in the contest tomorrow," Vash explained, utterly calm, as if this wasn't the worst idea ever.

"What? Why!"

"Why not?" he said, shrugging. He grinned at her, adding, "I'm pretty good, you know. I might even win it."

"Yeah, relax, Short-stuff," said Wolfwood, grinning too. Meryl glared at him, and when Vash waved him off he just rolled his eyes and retreated to their room.

"Are you crazy?" Meryl demanded.

"It'll be fine," Vash assured her. "Just bottles and cans."

"That's not the point!" she argued. "Vash, what if someone figures out who you are? The prize goes from $$50 thousand to $$60 billion, if anybody's dumb enough to take the risk—and someone always is!"

Meryl thought of all the incidents she and Milly had dealt with before they even found the real Vash. People were willing to jump at just the faintest hint that someone might be Vash the Stampede.

"The whole town is sitting on a powder keg," she said. "It's packed with people who all think they're crack shots, and at least a few of them actually are! If people start shooting, it's not going to stop!"

If they figured out who he was, all guns would be trained on Vash, and god help anyone who ended up in the way. He was pretty good at not getting shot, but if someone else was in the line of fire, Meryl knew he'd take the bullet instead without a second thought.

"It'll be fine," Vash said, more firmly. That steely gaze and cool voice was unmistakably the man in red, and it had the same effect on Meryl that it always did, somehow allaying any fear or doubt or worry, and muting any other argument she might have.

After another moment Vash gave her a tired little smile and wished her a goodnight before wandering off down the hall. Meryl struggled to find something, anything else to say, but in the end all she could manage was, "Please, be careful tomorrow."

When he turned back to face her, he stumbled—god, he did need to sober up—and Meryl grabbed the front of his jacket in an attempt to keep him upright. Vash managed to steady himself on the door behind her with a hand on either side of her shoulders, and he sighed heavily.

"I know, you don't want anyone to get hurt," he said, nodding wearily. "I'll be careful."

"I don't want you to get hurt," said Meryl, frowning up at him, somehow annoyed that he had misunderstood her meaning.

Vash's expression changed from weary to surprised, and suddenly her few words felt like some small, unintended confession. Meryl opened her mouth to say something else, but words failed her entirely as Vash lay his right hand along her jaw.

"I'll be careful," he said, again, and this time it sounded like a promise. His eyes were clear, his voice pitched low and quiet and only for her, and from iches away Meryl could hardly think properly, much less form a reply.

So she just nodded, glad she had even accomplished that, because suddenly he was looking at her mouth, and when his thumb brushed the side of her lips Meryl took in a tiny shuddering breath as her brain short-circuited again. Vash bent toward her and she was rising on her toes to meet him, pulling herself up by the front of his jacket until she could almost taste the bourbon on his breath.

"Come on, Broom-head, what's taking so long?"

Wolfwood's voice preceded him around the corner this time and Vash's hand leapt from Meryl's skin as though she had burned him. Meryl fell back on her heels and folded her arms tightly across her body, leaning against the door as Vash took a hasty step backward.

When Wolfwood appeared he glanced from Vash to Meryl once, but if he saw—or guessed—anything, he didn't comment.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," groused Vash, stumbling again as he turned away. This time Meryl didn't reach out to steady him and he fell sideways into the wall. Wolfwood laughed and came to collect him, pulling one of Vash's arms over his shoulders, half-dragging him away.

"You making me coffee, or something?" asked Vash. Wolfwood gave another bark of laughter but Meryl didn't hear his reply as both men disappeared around the corner.

She let herself into the room behind her again, taking a deep breath as she leaned back against the door. Meryl closed her eyes and tried hard not to imagine...

Vash had kissed her before, as a joke, ages ago, and they had shared breath in the suffocating sand in the buried ship. But there was no shortage of air here, and it sure as hell didn't feel like a joke.

It felt real. It felt like if Wolfwood hadn't showed up she would still be out there, with Vash's hands on her skin and his mouth warm against hers. And it would have been glorious.

And it would have been such a terrible mistake.

Quite apart from anything else, it was against company policy; Meryl's spine straightened automatically. If anyone decided her relationship to Vash was anything but strictly professional, she'd be taken off the case immediately, at the very least.

Bernadelli rules and regulations clearly state that field agents can't become... overly attached to the subject of their assignment. It was rare (field agents were always chasing criminals, after all), but close friendships had been formed in the past, with disastrous results. It could endanger all parties if an agent's relationship to their subject caused them to act in any manner contrary to their assignment.

And she already was. Meryl had found out Vash was in the contest and all she did was flail around, wailing about how dangerous it was. She should have ordered him not to compete, not just tried (and failed) to talk him out of it. It was her job to make sure this kind of thing didn't happen, and not even the man in red should have been able to stop her.

But he had, because she trusted him, and because he was Vash, and when he bent to kiss her she forgot it was dangerous, forgot her job, forgot that this was the Humanoid Typhoon, for god's sake. She should never have let him get so close. Even if she wanted anything other than strictly professional, it was impossible.

If.

Who was she kidding? She wanted. And it was already a problem, if Milly's reprimand was any indication. Reckless. Not a good descriptor for a disaster investigator. It was time to take a step back, before something could go really wrong.

Even if that meant no more bright eyes and easy smiles. No more soft words and gentle hands.

Meryl realized she was touching her face, where he'd touched her, and she brought her hands down to clench into fists at her sides.

No more.

If she was lucky, Vash was drunk enough that he wouldn't even remember that anything had happened. Had almost happened.

Meryl sat on her side of the bed and sighed, digging through her suitcase for her nightshirt. She hesitated when she found Vash's borrowed clothes, still stashed away near the bottom, a tangle of black fabric standing out in a sea of white.

Glancing back over her shoulder, to be sure Milly was still asleep, Meryl lifted the long pants from the rest of her of clothes and folded them in her lap. The shirt followed, and she marveled again at how soft the fabric was, well-worn over time. After a long moment, she pulled the shirt up to bury her nose in the collar.

It still smelled like him.

Reckless, reckless, reckless...

She shoved the clothes to the very bottom this time, wrapped up and hidden in a tunic she hadn't worn once since she'd taken this assignment.