DISCLAIMER: Trigun and its characters belong to Yasuhiro Nightow.

Vash quietly entered his room again. It was dark in here still; despite the crowing sounds outside, the sky was in that gray space between the old night and the new day. Meryl didn't move; good, she was still asleep. Stripping off shirt and gloves, he snuck back into bed, trying not to disturb her. She rustled and nestled closer to him; his arm surprised him by acting of its own accord and going around her shoulders.

For about as long as they had known each other, Vash had always been trying to get away from Meryl. Not only did her presence around him put her in danger, but she was pushy, persistent, pissy, and just about every other p-word except for penultimate. And passive – Meryl Stryfe was anything but passive.

Yet holding her now felt very much another p-word – proper.

He was just closing his eyes when she mumbled, "You're back."

Vash stiffened. What should he tell her? He had no desire to tell her what had transpired, least of all about having her in his sights. Even though it was unintended, that he had allowed such a thing of himself bothered him greatly. Anything you lined up your sights on was only one trigger pull away from ceasing to live; that was why he was so diligent in his training, to avoid such a circumstance.

To kill with a gun was easy. Far too easy, without the training and discipline it took to walk the line that he did.

"I'm back." The affirmation was all he could think to say.

"Good," Meryl sighed against him.

Even in the darkness, he could see her. Dark hair; light skin; jaw, usually so set firmly in her stubbornness, now relaxed. She really was a lovely woman, all tiny spitfire and courage, ready to take on the world, unyielding in her sense of right and wrong. When was she lovelier – when she was standing defiantly against whatever odds she might be facing, or when she was relaxed as she was right now? He couldn't help but trace her jawline, feeling her move gently against his finger.

Vash remembered Meryl as she had been back at the geo-plant in Promontory, willing to take on the giant Nebraska woman with her derringers and her conviction. What a rare woman this was lying next to him.

"I was just thinking," he said.

"Hmm," came the sleepy response.

"I picked up a gun to protect people. I set out to save lives, not take them. But this world is so desolate, it's like the desolation overflows into your soul. It's happened before, and I've fought it off each time; but I don't know how much more I can take. Everyplace I go, it seems there's always somebody who's a predator, somebody who's a parasite, somebody who's looking to get some more blood on his hands. How long can I fight people like that before I get some blood on my own hands? How long before somebody manages to leave me with no choice?

"How long before I become a killer?"

"Not a killer," Meryl breathed, warm and soft against him.

"I don't want to be," he told her. "But ever since Monev – I was ready to put him down, and even though I didn't, that feeling hasn't gone away. I can't shake it. Everywhere I've been, everything I've seen…I've been able to get rid of it before, but now it's in deeper than it's ever been. So many people dead who didn't have to be…God help me, sometimes it's so hard not to pull the trigger. Why do people allow such hate into their hearts?"

No response came. He could feel the rise and fall of her chest, steady breathing inviting him to continue.

"Do you think there's someplace out there without killing? A place where people aren't as dry as this world?"

"Mmpff," she mumbled.

Vash's mind was moving in high gear now, emotions becoming thoughts and ricocheting off each other. He knew Knives was out there somewhere; Legato Bluesummers was proof enough of that. Knives was out there, waiting, his agents hunting Vash the Stampede. There could be no peace for the Humanoid Typhoon, not until he and Knives faced each other for the last time.

But what if he weren't the Humanoid Typhoon? What if he weren't Vash the Stampede?

It wouldn't last forever, he knew. But Knives had managed to stay hidden since July; if he could go into hiding, why couldn't Vash? Why couldn't he just take a new name and drop out, just for a little while? If Knives could hide from him for a quarter of a century, why couldn't he return the favor?

Maybe Vash could even stay hidden long enough to have a life with someone…

He looked at the woman in his arms, and it dawned on him that as he held her his trigger finger was not twitching. Dawned that he was no longer seeing his gun sights centered on her, only Meryl as she was now, content in his arms. Vash suddenly realized that while he held Meryl, he was steady.

In that moment, he dared to dream.

"I'm not wearing my gun anymore," he said suddenly. "I want to find someplace, someplace nice where I can just stay put and lay low for a while. A new place, a new name – a new life. A quiet life. I could try my hand at farming, or gardening, or carpentry, anything that doesn't have to do with guns. Maybe – if your job is to stick with me all the time – maybe you could try it with me.

"Do you think – do you think you could love someone who just lived a quiet life?"

He was so shyly quiet now that his voice was almost a whisper as he asked what needed to be asked.

"Do you think you could love me?"

There was no response. Had he stunned her into silence? Was she thinking of a reply? Or disgusted by the very thought of loving him?

"Meryl?"

A slight sound escaped her. He leaned in closer and heard her quietly snoring.

Well, son of a bitch – she had slept through everything he had just said!

Astonishment gave way to a wry grin as Vash watched Meryl sleeping in his arms. Planted a soft kiss on her forehead and laid his head down next to hers.

He could say it all again later. What mattered right now was he was with her. He was steady.

As he fell asleep, he realized what that meant – Meryl centered him.