Chapter Four: Dance Moves

----------

A woman emerged from the café and began to weave among the seated clientele. If the heat of the day was wearing on her, she didn't show it as she swiftly swayed along, coming to a stop before a table at the far end of the sheltered courtyard. She nodded to her patrons in acknowledgment as she sized up their orders.

"Here ya'll go – a Super Colossal Hot Fudge Sundae with extra fudge, extra nuts, extra whip cream, and all the trimmings…."

"Mine!" Milly's eyes gleamed like polished marbled as she ogled the oozing concoction set before her. Meryl, whose appetite was only slowly starting to return, felt her stomach heave slightly. How Milly handled it, she'd never know.

"A small graniti and an iced tea with a twist of mint."

"That's mine," Meryl replied. "Thank you."

The waitress stooped over to heft her third item into view. "And a large bucket of water. No ice."

"His." The insurance agents pointed at Vash, who had collapsed face down against the table.

The waitress eyed him, clucking disapprovingly. "Ugh. Honey, you should go see a doctor." When the gunman failed to respond, she shook her head and turned back to Meryl. "Well, let me know if you gals need anything. Refills, napkins," – glancing sidelong at Vash – "A hose," she added, before turning to leave.

It was now mid-afternoon. They had scoured every shop and saloon in Bowe's Flats and not a single bottle of Wilde's tonic was left in the town – shopkeepers reported there had been a rush early that morning and they didn't expect a new shipment until the following day. Finally, Milly declared she was famished and insisted that they stop to eat. Meryl, worn out herself and increasingly concerned about Vash's sagging disposition, had readily agreed.

Now, as Milly happily dug into her sundae, Meryl glanced worriedly over at Vash's squashed face as she poked a spoon into her order. "Please have a little something to drink at least, Vash." When the man still failed to respond, she sighed. "I'm sorry, Vash," she murmured softly for his ears alone. "I tried to save some…."

Vash immediately roused himself. "S'kay, Meryl. Really…." Hauling himself upright, he unsteadily grabbed the bucket and placed it on the ground between his bent knees. "Pregnant women have to take care of themselves," he added off-handedly with a weak laugh before plunging his head fully in, not noticing Meryl stirring uncomfortably and Milly looking up.

Meryl scowled at the blond's backside. That's not funny, Vash. But her frown dissolved as she recalled Dr. Wilde's comments. Though maybe you're not trying to be. She trembled anew, as she felt Milly's gaze fall on her.

"Is that what the doctor told you?" Milly asked.

Before Meryl could answer, Vash straightened up, weakly brushing a hand back over now flattened hair. "Well, more or less…."

"Oh."

There followed an uncomfortable pause as everyone involved themselves in their orders. Meryl picked idly at her ice, wondering how she was going to talk to Milly about all this when she had yet to speak to Vash. The uncertainty was frustrating. If only I could have it out with Vash, right now. Then I could know once and for all… She felt the silence at the table growing increasingly uncomfortable, pressing in on her from all sides, almost… expectant. And wasn't there a word for that? A 'pregnant' pause? She didn't notice that small flecks of ice were beginning to spray out of her bowl. For Heaven's sake, say something, Stryfe. Talk about the food, talk about the weather, talk about anything but –

"So what did you dream about last night?"

It was Milly who spoke, as she scooped a large fudgy mass into her mouth. Meryl was unsure, but she thought she could detect the faint traces of a blush developing on her friend's cheeks while she calmly ate. She felt an unpleasant twinge as she pondered anew if there was something Milly wasn't letting on and shot her a suspicious glance.

But Milly was looking at Vash, who was momentarily befuddled. "Well, I, uh…," he hemmed, uncertain how to respond. Like Meryl, Vash had been letting his mind wander back over the events of the previous evening – or his vague impressions of them, at least. He knew that what he had done that morning hadn't really helped his situation with Meryl, though at the time it seemed like a good idea. But since the talk with Dr. Wilde other things had weighed on his conscience. Unnerving things. He had to know how much of his dream… wasn't. Only then could he –

Why couldn't he remember clearly what had happened? (Damn bet!) Vash shuddered: Meryl would be furious with him when she found out he couldn't really remember anything. If only there was a way to find out without tipping Meryl off. But regardless of the consequences, Vash knew what he really needed now more than anything was to simply talk to Meryl. If only I could do it without Milly overhearing… without Milly…going over Milly….

A plan began to form in his mind.

Glancing between both women, Vash gave one of his boyish, self-conscience laughs. "What I was dreaming?" he repeated, playing for time while he reviewed his idea. He decided it was worth a shot. Shrugging casually, he said in a lazy drawl, "Ahhh, you don't want to know. You'll just laugh."

Milly was intrigued. "Oh, Mr. Vash! You know we would never do that! Please tell us? Pretty please?" She pressed her palms together in a gesture of earnest supplication.

Vash carefully kept his eyes fixed on the table as he felt Milly's eyes boring into him, wondering if Meryl would pick up on his cues. She was surprisingly good at that sometimes. Oh well, here goes…. He looked up at Milly. "Oh, all right. Last night I dreamt I was...," he smoothly turned away to look Meryl directly in the eyes, raising his voice ever so slightly. "Dancing."

But Meryl was staring down into her mostly demolished graniti, determinedly trying to avoid all conversation involving the previous night. Disgruntled, Vash loudly cleared his throat, finally drawing her attention.

What the-? He's blushing! Meryl observed, one eyebrow arching curiously. It arched even further when Vash, close to glaring, again intoned, "I SAID I DREAMED THAT I WAS DANCING LAST NIGHT, MERYL!"

Both brows arched as Meryl finally realized what he was trying to do. Clever, Vash – even if you're about as subtle as a brick. She supposed Vash never would have dared such ridiculously obvious double talk were Wolfwood sitting there. Then sudden realization lanced through her as the full implications of his words dawned on her. Her heart began to beat faster as she felt her face warming. Never mind Vash – she certainly wouldn't have dared it.

Meryl wanted to sink back in her chair, to take a moment and process what he had just indirectly said. She had been stubbornly demanding incontrovertible proof all morning; now, here it was. Vash was all but telling her that he, at least, clearly remembered what had happened. She felt a further prick of guilt that she didn't; Vash would be hurt when he found out. If he found out, Meryl amended. She needed to think about what it all meant but couldn't: Vash was staring holes through her. He seemed to need acknowledgment, though why she had no idea. Fighting to compose herself, Meryl struggled for a response. This was embarrassing. "That's ironic," she finally exclaimed in a voice like a stage whisper, "I- I think I…," – she swallowed thickly – "Dreamed about the same thing, too!"

I… see, Vash thought as he watched Meryl laughing in a high, phony voice. She remembers. It wasn't just a dream, after all. The air seemed to go out of him; he sagged back in his seat, thoughts racing in several directions. Like Meryl, he needed some time to think about her words. What it would mean for him – for them. Well, what do you know, he mused idly as his thoughts began to drift. Another one of your brilliant plans has paid off.

"Really?" Milly's voice broke in, as she looked interestedly between her dazed companions. "You both dreamed the same thing? Imagine what a coincidence that must be! Meryl and I have been traveling together for months now and we've never once shared a dream. Maybe it means something if both you and Meryl dreamed the same thing, Mr. Vash!"

Then again, maybe it was not such a brilliant plan after all.

Milly seemed thoroughly fascinated by the subject. She leaned forward, eager to interrogate them further. "So, do you both remember what kind of dance was it?"

How am I supposed to answer that? thought two heads simultaneously while the third wondered if she had enough room for seconds. For a few moments nothing was said as Vash and Meryl waited, each hoping the other would speak first.

"Well? Don't either of you remember?" Milly prompted, confused by their silence.

That seemed to provoke a reaction. Milly watched in bemusement as Vash and Meryl suddenly looked at each other, then jerked away to stare down at the table.

"The dance? Um, well, it was sort of…." Meryl knitted her brows. Think! What would make an appropriate analogy?

"It was kinda, you know, kinda…," Vash shrugged helplessly. Better make it sound good.

"What's the name…?"

"Give me a moment, it's on the tip of my tongue…!"

"Oh, silly me, it was a waltz!" Meryl smacked her forehead. "What else is like a wal-."

"Yeah, it was a tango!" Vash nodded enthusiastically. "Definitely a tang-… guh…."

Preoccupied with licking her spoon, Milly didn't see her friends exchanging puzzled glances. What the heck does he mean by that? Meryl wondered. Vash thought much the same.

Milly tilted her head thoughtfully. "Hmm… those dances aren't very much alike are they? A waltz is very graceful and slow, with both partners moving in harmony across the floor. And a tango is much more… energetic." She smiled, preparing to eat another spoonful. "Oh well, I guess you two couldn't have been dance partners, then!"

She did not notice her audience flinching. In particular, she did not notice her partner quickly working herself into a snit.

"Now WAIT a minute!" Meryl cried indignantly, forgetting herself as she wheeled on the startled gunman. "What do you mean it was a tango? That was nothing like a –!" She caught herself, coughing loudly until she had regained enough composure to continue stiffly on. "What I mean is, Milly brought up a rather interesting point, Vash. What was it that made you – that is, what was it about your DREAM that made you think it was THAT kind of dance?"

Vash squirmed. "It went kinda fast."

Wrong, wrong answer.

Good thing I didn't say it was a mambo, thought Vash as he quivered under the black look Meryl was sending him.

Milly was satisfied enough to move on. "Anyway, what was your partner like, Mr. Vash?"

"Um… she was… she was very…," Vash suppressed the impulse to look Meryl, desperately racking his brain for a fitting description. It was not that he hadn't given the subject previous thought; he had, on quite a few occasions, though not always in a flattering way. At least, it had been like that at first. Now, however….

C'mon, pick a feature, idiot! It was hard to focus with Meryl sitting right there staring at him. As with all high-pressure situations calling for quick thinking, Vash found himself running with the first thought that came immediately to mind:

"She was short. Real… short." He gave a weak laugh.

A nerve throbbed deep inside Meryl's brain.

"And what was your dance partner like, Meryl?"

"Well…," The Short One smiled tightly as she swirled the icy slosh in her dish, resisting the urge to upend it over a certain blond's head. "I think my partner was rather… thin." Meryl folded her arms, as if satisfied with her assessment. "Yes, that's what I'd call him. Thin."

"Oh, I see." Milly seemed faintly disappointed by the lack of detail. "Then –."

"Come to think of it, Milly," Vash interrupted as he casually stretched his legs, "My partner was kinda on the underdeveloped side."

"He was the scrawny type," Meryl added airily. "A real beanpole."

"Runty, even."

"Weakling."

"Bitchy."

"Blond."

"Wow, Mr. Vash, Meryl – it sounds just like you're describing people I know! Gee, I wonder who they could be…?"

They immediately shut up, though not without casting peevish glances at Milly.

Unfazed, the tall girl forged on. "Well, at least tell me what was dancing with her like, Mr. Vash."

Though wearying of the topic, Vash nearly smiled. He could almost feel Meryl seizing up. It was too good an opportunity to pass up. Never mind the foggy details – all that was needed here was insinuation. Let Meryl work out the particulars later. "Mmm. Now that I think about it, Milly, I must say on the whole she was really… really…."

"Really what?" asked Milly while Meryl slowly narrowed her eyebrows.

"Enthusiastic. It was all I could do to keep up with her. And her moves! They were sooo… what's the word?"

"Dignified," inserted Meryl through clenched teeth.

"More like athletic," countered Vash. "Yeah, she was all over m-… er, the dance floor." He eyed Meryl knowingly, beginning to enjoy her impotent fury. "In fact, I honestly don't think I've ever seen such footwork in all my life."

"You mean – she didn't step on your toes?" wondered Milly, puzzling over his words.

"She didn't get the chance," muttered Meryl darkly.

"Actually, Ms. Stryfe, I am an excellent judge of technique, I'll have you know." He couldn't hold back the grin any longer. "And I know there are a few things I could teach you."

"Oh, really? Have you had a lot of dance partners, Mr. Vash?"

Oh, yeah, loads. Unbidden, the words had leapt automatically to his tongue. Never mind that it was an exaggeration. A gross one. Such braggadocio was natural to him, a part of his image for so long that he had long ceased noticing – or caring – when he felt the need to play up the crowd. His mouth was already open, set to deliver what was sure to be a killer line as he turned to catch a certain brunette's eye. But then something unexpected caused them to die outright.

That stricken look which suddenly appeared in Meryl's blue-gray eyes.

The air escaping though his lips as he slowly pressed them together sounded like a faint sigh, and Vash found himself staring back down at the table again, almost ashamed. "Well, actually, Milly… I haven't really… had…." He mumbled the last part.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Vash, what was that you said?"

He slowly brought his head back up, his voice growing more serious as he glanced between the two agents. "Back when I was really young, I remember being taught some basic steps to a few dances by Rem." Vash paused, conscious of the astonished looks on both Milly and Meryl's faces: even now, he rarely ever spoke about that period of his life. "There were times when we didn't have much to do for fun, and that's mostly when she taught us. Her favorite was a waltz. I guess I always liked something a little faster."

Vash quickly looked over at Meryl, hoping she wouldn't take that the wrong way, but to his relief she was watching him with thoughtful eyes. "But I really haven't danced all that much since those days. Not the same way, I mean."

"Oh," murmured Meryl softly, causing the gunman to perk up a little. At least she wasn't angry with him anymore.

"Yeah… it's kind of hard to practice without a regular partner." Vash smiled wryly, yet with more real pleasure than he had all day. "Since then, most of what I've picked up I learned on my own, by watching."

Milly, however, was perplexed. "But if you dance by yourself all the time, Mr. Vash, how can you possibly be any good at it?"

"ENOUGH about our dreams, Milly," Meryl broke in, desperately desiring to turn the subject away from anything involving bodily movements. "What did you dream about?"

To her surprise, Milly immediately developed a dreamy look on her face. "It's weird. But it was a really good one, though." Meryl noticed that she had again adopted a slightly coy look. "I dreamed I was standing in a huge field of grass, just like in one of those pictures from a history book. Everywhere you looked, there were trees and grass and plants, covering everything. I was a little girl again and there were blooming flowers everywhere, in all kinds of colors. I was picking them, making a bouquet with them, and I wasn't alone…." Her voice trailed off as a languid smile touched her face. "I've never had a dream like that before, though."

"Well, I guess dreaming about fields of grass is a little odd, but certainly nothing terrible." Meryl smiled, picturing the scene herself. "To be honest, it sounds like a real nice dream."

"Actually, it wasn't the dream that I thought was strange. It was that immediately after waking up I felt this great wave of nausea and got sick in the hallway." Her eyes grew puzzled. "I wonder what I was doing in the hallway…?"

Meryl hastily interrupted her. "Wait – you were sick this morning, too, Milly?" She bit her lip; it was on the tip of her tongue to add "So why didn't you say anything to me?" But that hardly seemed fair anymore.

"Yes, I threw up when I woke up, and then I couldn't find my keys to get into the room." Milly looked embarrassed while Meryl nervously fiddled with her spoon. "But then I went downstairs and bought some tea to drink. And I felt much better by the time you came down. I guess throwing up right away wasn't so bad; Big Sis said it was always best to just get it all out as soon as possible."

"Miracle tea," mussed Meryl. "Lucky for us." She turned back to Vash, her expression softening in spite of her rather recent annoyance with him. He still looked awful. "If only there was a way we could get our hands on some more of it."

"Oh! Maybe there is!" Milly leaned back in her chair and raised her hand to call over their waitress, who readily approached. "Miss, you wouldn't happen to have any Wilde's tonic available?" she asked when the woman drew near.

"Sorry. We sold out all of ours this morning, or else ah'd've offered," she replied, tilting her chin towards Vash, who again appeared to be on the verge of face planting into the table.

"Then," Meryl asked on a sudden whim, "Do you know if there is anyone here in town who has medical expertise? Anyone besides Dr. Wilde, that is?"

The waitress hesitated, then twisted her head back over her shoulder to glance at the nearest table. Satisfied that no one seemed to be minding them, she turned back and shrugged. "Well, no actual doctors that I know of, but there used to be a witch that – ."

"Excuse me, did you say a witch?"

"Well, that's what everyone calls her. I don't know if she really is one or not. Anyway, if I recall she used to treat people years ago. Or poison them. Or was it that she sold phony love charms…?"

"Er… love charms?" Meryl wondered if she had heard her right.

"Charms, curses, something like that. Weird cures. She made potions, in any case. There was some kind of uproar over it." The waitress idly chewed on her pencil as she tried to remember. "But it was before I came here, so all I know is hearsay. Anyway, you'd kind of have to be desperate to go to her."

"Desperate?" Milly repeated.

"Real desperate," the woman replied, as if that explanation was sufficient of itself.

"Do you know where she lives?" Vash broke in. He had pulled himself up straight again, a determined glint in his eye.

"Hey, just wait a minute, Vash –!" Meryl interjected, but the gunman kept his gaze fixed on the other woman.

"Just tell me where. Please."

The waitress cocked an eyebrow. "Last I knew she lived on the south end of town, not far from the old underground cistern."

"Great. Let's go see that so-called witch. But before we go –," Vash's face dissolved into a grimace. He suddenly lifted up his empty bucket and held it out to the waitress. "Can I get a refill?"

She curled her lip. "Ya want I should make room at the water trough for you?"

----------