DISCLAIMER: Trigun and its characters belong to Yasuhiro Nightow.

It's Not A Diary!

Meryl Stryfe sipped her tea, perched on a bar stool at an angle that allowed her to watch the subject of her surveillance without seeming like she was watching.

"Hi, Meryl!"

The happy, and loud, greeting from behind startled Meryl into almost spilling her tea. She had been so focused on the object of her watching that she'd neglected her blind spots. She set her tea on the bar and scolded her partner as she circled to Meryl's front. "Milly, you can't just sneak up on me. And keep your voice down!"

"Sorry, Meryl," Milly Thompson apologized. "I just wanted to tell you how my day went. What are you doing that I have to be quiet?"

"Trying to figure out what he's doing."

"Do we have an assignment?" The excitement was evident in Milly's voice, only to vanish as she turned and saw who Meryl was watching so intently. "Oh, it's just Mr. Vash. Can't you tell what he's doing? He's just sitting there writing in a book."

"I know that, Milly. It's what he's writing that I'd like to know."

Milly blinked. "Why don't you ask him? I know you've always been worked up around him, but things should be better now that the two of you are dating."

Meryl's cheeks skipped pink and went straight to tinging red. "I do not get worked up, Milly! But who could blame me if I did? The very purpose of his existence seems to be to aggravate me! And for your information, we are not dating, we simply have – been in each other's company by mutual consent on a few occa – hey!" she exclaimed, but it was too late. Milly was already on her way to Vash's table.

Meryl watched her lean down and say something. Vash responded and Milly nodded in apparent understanding. Make that misunderstanding, because Vash then loudly proclaimed, "It's not a diary!"

Milly returned to Meryl. "He's keeping a diary," she reported.

"From what he told you, he seems to think otherwise."

"He called it a journal, but I kept a diary back home, I know one when I see one."

Meryl's lips pursed in thought. "I don't suppose you saw any of what he was writing?"

Milly shook her head. "Just dates. That's how I know it's a diary, he wouldn't let me see it."

"What could he possibly be so worried about that he has to write it down but won't show it to anyone?" Meryl wondered. Her eyes narrowed at the conclusion she reached. "He must be writing about other women! That rotten cad, that must be it! Why else would he be so concerned about keeping it to himself?"

"I don't know, Meryl, I put all kinds of things in my diary growing up that weren't about boys. Why, I had three pages just talking about –"

"Never mind, Milly! He's up to no good, and I'm going to prove it!"

"How?"

"I'll tell you how…" Meryl outlined her plan.

Later that night, after they had all gone to their rooms for the night, Milly emerged from hers. She felt unsure about this and couldn't understand why Meryl was so emotionally complicated when it came to Vash, but an order was an order.

She stood outside Vash's door and readied herself, taking a deep breath. Then she let out what she hoped was a terrified shriek.

The door opened. Vash, clad in light pants and a long-sleeved loose shirt, looked at her. "Milly? What's the matter?"

"Oh, Mr. Vash, there's something horrible downstairs, you have to come deal with it because I don't know what it is and you're a big strong man, come quick!" Not giving him much of a choice in the matter, she grabbed his arm and hauled him off.

Meryl's door opened slightly. Her head poked out, craning left and right. All clear, good. She hurried to Vash's room and ducked in, beelining for the nightstand next to his bed. Good, the drawer was unlocked. Aha – as she thought, the book she had seen him writing in since they had started going – well, spending time together – was there.

Now, it was time to find out exactly what he was so private about…

"But Mr. Vash –"

"Drop it, Milly," Vash instructed as she followed him back to his room. "You're a terrible actress." He entered his room, where Meryl was sitting on his bed. "Why am I not surprised?"

Meryl eyed him frostily. "I've been sitting here asking myself precisely that, while reading your diary."

"It's not a diary!"

"I don't care what it is," Meryl spat. "You've been caught red-handed, you broom-headed, donut-scarfing, unfaithful louse!"

She flipped a few pages. "'I miss Jacqueline and the way her fiery hair looked in the sunlight,'" she quoted. "'How many times have I regretted not telling her how I felt before letting her go?'"

Flipped a few more. "'Of all of them, I may miss Carrie the most. She had a zest for life I haven't seen since, and I can't stop thinking about how amazingly flexible she was.' You're disgusting!" she declared with a scowl.

She flipped to the latest entry. "'Meryl, I've seen you wondering what I write. You have trouble being open and I know you also can't leave it alone, so I've set up this fake journal – it's not a diary – for you…'" Meryl trailed off, realizing she'd been had.

She looked up at Vash, speechless. Her reflex was to be mad at having walked into a trap, but she was also ashamed of herself for not being able to let his thoughts just stay his.

Milly had removed herself from what she was sure would be a bad situation, so it was just the two of them. Vash moved to where Meryl was sitting and reached under the mattress, withdrawing a book identical to the one Meryl held. He sat next to her.

"It really isn't a diary," he explained. "I never had a mother, not so far as I know, anyway. But a long time ago, there was a woman who was as close as I can get to one. I write letters to her. Talk about things that happened, people I met. Sometimes it helps me sort things out, and sometimes it helps me just stay connected to her memory. But I've never written to her about a woman until we first went out. Would you like to see what I've written about you?"

Meryl looked down, letting the falsehoods she held in her hands fall to the floor. "I'd – I'd like to, but I know I don't have any right to ask now. I just –"

"You're feeling things you haven't felt before and you're not sure what to do with them," he completed.

She looked back up, into his eyes. "Yes. How –"

Vash smiled at her. "I am, too. The difference between us is you're guarded even from yourself. Here." He put an arm around her, opening the book in front of her so she could see it for herself. Meryl found herself leaning into the partial embrace as he started to read aloud. "'Dear Rem, I'd like to tell you about a wonderful woman named Meryl…"