DISCLAIMER: Trigun and its characters belong to Yasuhiro Nightow.
Meryl and Milly retired shortly after Vash did, the teenaged boy having calmed down enough to stomp off in a face-saving huff. Each room was designed only for one occupant, but their money was beginning to run as low as their water and the nearest field office was not near at all. After a short who-is-more-noble contest, Milly put her foot down and said she would take the floor and that was that, and that was how they came to share a room with Meryl lying on a mattress so beat up that you did not have to be a princess to feel uncomfortable on it.
She lay there, feigning sleep in her PJ's. Finally, she got up and crept out of the room, making her way to Vash's. Changed her mind and started back, then changed it again and returned to his door. Raised her hand to knock.
No. It was his business and she should not bother him about it. Started back again.
But after the scene she had witnessed earlier, she felt she should at least try to get him to open up. Went back to his door.
She was just raising her hand to knock when Vash's voice came from within. "Are you coming in, or aren't you?"
Meryl blushed at having been caught in her hesitation, but gathered her fortitude anyway, and turned the knob and entered.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed by its head, pants on but shirtless, silhouetted in shadow and moonlight from the window. One hand ran through his hair, loose for the night, as he blew out a tired sigh. His uncovered form was as she remembered, lean and muscular, but his silhouette gave the wrong impression. He was incomplete without the scars she had seen.
Vash took a box of matches from the bedside table where a portable lamp was. Struck one, lit the lamp. The lamplight gave the room just enough light to see by. "Close the door and sit down."
Meryl acquiesced, closing the door, but the only place to sit was either the bed or the floor.
"You can sit next to me. I won't bite."
Lately, she was not so sure of that. But she made herself rise to the challenge, defying her doubts and taking a few steps to sit next to him. His mattress was even lumpier than hers, the springs creaking under her slight weight.
This was Vash the Stampede. The entire world feared him, but Meryl Stryfe knew he was actually a donut-craving, liquor-downing jerk. She was unafraid of him, more than willing to knock some sense in when she had to.
So why was she so unsure of herself around him lately? When had he begun making her heart beat faster? And what was the significance of that?
Was she in love with him? Unlikely – she was too good at her job to let herself fall in love with the subject of an assignment, especially the most wanted man on the planet. Besides, she had no time for love in her life.
No, there was no chance that Meryl was in love with Vash. She absolutely refused to be in love, no matter how her body and emotions increasingly reacted around him.
"You want to know why I've been off-kilter lately," he said quietly. She jumped slightly as she was jerked from her thoughts. Hopefully, he had not seen it.
"Yes." Thank God she managed to avoid it coming out in a shy squeak.
Vash looked at her. Schoolgirl feelings be damned, this was important. She fought the urge to look away blushingly, instead meeting his eyes evenly.
"Have you ever seen a war?"
His words drove home the seriousness of what he was trying to talk to her about, and she shoved down her concerns about feelings. "I've been in combat, yes. You know that."
Vash shook his head slowly. "Not combat. Not just a gunfight. War."
Her head cocked. "I don't understand what you're trying to tell me. Combat is war, right?"
His frustration focused into a sigh, and he ran a hand through his hair again, searching for the words.
Meryl's own hand cupped his cheek. "It's ok. Relax. It'll come to you."
His hand reached up, softly touching hers as it touched his cheek. Took it, almost cradling it, his own calloused roughness balanced by her soft skin. Soft everywhere except for her own calluses on her trigger finger and thumb, and he knew her skill with her derringers was as earned as his own skill with his gun. He felt her hand, traced it, touched her fingers with his own, explored it like a koan that focused his thoughts.
"Combat's not war," Vash said at last. "It's only a very small part of it."
"Ok."
"War is – it's complex and simple all at once. You can have a lot of reasons to fight a war, and always a lot of when's and how's and especially who's. But at its core – it's just people killing. Right, wrong, in attack, in defense – it's always people killing other people. Most of the time, the people fighting – if they would just stop trying to kill each other, they're usually people with enough in common that they'd have a drink together.
"After the Fall, things were worse than bad. People were so busy surviving, they didn't even think about trying to rebuild. So panicked, all they were concerned about was seeing the next day.
"After a while, things got a little organized. Survivors found each other and formed up into groups. Supplies were scavenged. Survival worries went from the next day to the next week.
"Nobody had yet thought about checking out the plants. There was still nothing long-range. Development had progressed to people forming up, but that was it. And everything that people needed was running out.
"Some people tried to make things work. Found wild thomases and tried domesticating them for food. Started looking for water – a couple groups found enough ship wreckage to cobble together what they needed to drill for it. A lot of people tried to pull it together.
"But others just took what they wanted, jumping smaller groups, cannibalizing all their equipment and supplies. Sometimes more. And when those gangs met the larger, better-equipped groups – bodies filled the landscape.
"Finding the plants didn't make things better, not at first. Some of those larger outfits, once the plants were re-discovered, fought over who would get to use them. Good people died, people who just wanted to feed their own families, over something that could have supported them all. People killed each other over something that was meant to help all of them!"
Meryl was stunned to hear this unheard chapter of mankind's history on Gunsmoke. She had known things had started out bad – everyone knew that – but had never heard of people fighting over the plants, or of gangs victimizing people trying to survive. As far as Meryl knew, mankind had worked together to survive on this barren world.
"Don't get me wrong," he said, as though reading her thoughts. "A lot of people worked together. But just as many didn't. First, it was over who would survive, then it was over who would prosper. Sometimes, it was over a last name. But it was always war, a long-term struggle to kill everyone on the other side. Pointless."
"How do you know all this?" she queried, genuinely wanting to know but also trying to keep him grounded. She was getting the feeling he was being taken by the past.
"I helped where I could," Vash continued, ignoring her words. "But there was always Knives –" Who's Knives? she wondered silently. "– and even when he left, there was only so much I could do. I didn't know enough then, and so many people were lost. And the more I failed, the angrier I got. It was so damn pointless – you kill them, they kill you, do it enough and there's nobody left. I got so angry at all these people killing, I wanted to pull the trigger myself, just to stop them. Just to let out all that anger. But I never killed anybody."
He had let go of her hand. Knees were tucked up against his chest as he held his arms tight around them. Meryl reached out to him.
"I never killed anybody," he repeated, and Meryl realized he clung to that fact like a lifeline.
"I know," she whispered soothingly, arms going around him and pulling him down on the mattress with her. Tugged his arms up, letting his legs straighten out. The small woman held the gunman close, trying to banish his past. "It's ok. You never killed anyone."
His voice was shaky as he confessed. "I wanted to. I wanted to kill Monev. So angry. I wanted to."
"It's ok," she whispered again. "You didn't. You've never killed anyone. That's what matters." Continued whispering soothing things until he relaxed.
The two people unable to find sleep alone found it in each other's arms.