Chapter Six: Mental Barriers, Pt.1

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The scene in Bowden's Saloon was not quite so active that evening, though not for a lack of customers. Its tables and bar stools were lined with patrons quietly nursing their drinks, their wan, haggard faces regarding the entering trio with what to Meryl seemed barely veiled hostility. Then she cautiously peeked up at Vash, who was also wearing a similarly stony expression. She recalled Dolores' revelation as she surveyed the malcontented mass. No, it probably wasn't a surprise that everyone was on edge. She clutched the pouch tighter in her hand, following meekly in Vash's wake as he made his way to the only vacant table.

They had barely seated themselves when the bartender approached, wiping his hands on a red stained towel. "Evening, folks. Tonight's drink special is the Bloody Mary and… oh, it's you three again." He looked at them warily, deep bags under his bloodshot eyes. "What'll it be this time? Thirty tequila shots?"

"No," Vash replied shortly, the barest hint of menace in his response. Milly and Meryl exchanged glances. It was always unsettling to see him in distemper, rare though it was.

"May we please just have a pot of boiled water and some cups?" Meryl politely supplied.

"Make that hot milk for me, please!" Milly added.

"But, Milly, what about the tea –?"

"It's okay. I like it that way. It helps me go to sleep."

"Well… whatever. Er, Vash, is there anything…?"

But the gunman said nothing. Shrugging, the bartender turned and left.

Meryl sighed. The walk back into town had not been cheerful. She had spent it thinking about Dolores' advice, about how much she needed to have a heart to heart with Vash. She had been hoping for the chance to hint at him about their need for words. But the taxing day combined with whatever had happened in the midwife's back room had finished off the last vestiges of Vash's normal good humor. He had been uncommunicative ever since, even going so far as to slip on his sunglasses as soon as they had reentered the city limits. He might as well have put up a sign, thought Meryl with disgust. Tonight it was The Stampede who sat brooding across from her in the dreary saloon.

At the exact same table they had occupied barely twenty-four hours ago.

She shivered at the unsettling sense of déjà vu washing over her. How did we end up with this table again? Meryl shrank back in her seat, keenly aware of the awkward situation, and covertly scanned her friend's faces. But it seemed that she was the only one who'd noticed. Milly, eyes closed, was absorbed in humming along to a popular song playing from the nearby jukebox. Vash, meanwhile, was wholly self-preoccupied, staring impassively out at the people in the saloon.

Pushing aside her discomfort, Meryl turned her attention to the gunman. Taking the opportunity to trace the familiar planes of his face unawares, she wondered what troubling thoughts were running through his head. The last time she'd seen him so tense was before his most recent confrontation with his brother. Though disheartened by that memory, Meryl gave a wistful half smile, wishing that she could command so much of Vash's interest.

Perhaps I could… if only I had the guts to finally tell him.

Falling into a light fantasy, Meryl imagined what it might be like to telepathically communicate with someone. How simple it would be, to allow Vash access to the feelings she could not find the words to express. There had been so many missed opportunities between them in the past few weeks – too many competing distractions, really. She had found herself beginning to despair of ever finding the right moment to approach him. For encouragement from Milly aside, Meryl knew she could not just… go crazy on him. No matter how badly she wished she could.

Of course, unexpectedly waking up next to him in bed had not really helped matters.

Meryl sighed softly to herself, wondering why her relationship with Vash had to be so complicated. But, as she stoically reminded herself, Life With Vash was just that way by nature. She continued inspecting the gunman's face, noting the taut jaw muscles working around thinly pressed lips and the guarded expression. She frowned sadly, recognizing that particular demeanor: she had a fairly good idea of what was bothering Vash. It was the same thing that had been haunting him for the past month.

Stop it, Vash, Meryl silently commanded, eyebrows furrowed with the intensity of her concentration. Stop doing this to yourself. It's so unfair, Vash. Never mind that such mental imploring was futile. Meryl knew she would do better to take a cue from Wolfwood and just come right out and yell at him, if nothing more than to shock him out of his solitude. But to publicly say some of the things weighing on her mind….

Still… no one can shoulder such a heavy burden alone.

Remembering a time when she had believed she'd lost him forever, Meryl felt a surge of emotion welling up inside her, a feeling so strong it seemed to be literally flowing out of her towards him. She didn't fight it; she couldn't – there was so much she yearned to say. Please, Vash, listen to me. I just can't bear seeing you like this. I want… I want to help you. Oh, please understand, Vash, I need you to –.

Then suddenly he was staring straight at her.

They locked gazes and Meryl, abashed, completely lost her train of thought. She felt a heated prickling along her neck, wondering if perhaps Vash had finally noticed her watching him as her mind raced to come up with a plausible excuse for her behavior. Something that wouldn't make her look like a complete idiot. But she couldn't think, much less speak: those amber veiled eyes were staring at her….

And then, to Meryl's shock, she realized that his dispassionate orbs seemed to rather be looking through her than at her. Feeling an indistinct pressure building inside her skull, she was overcome by the distressing sensation that something alien was examining her, indifferently cold and detached. Her breath catching in her throat, for a terrible moment Meryl believed her thoughts truly were on the verge of being exposed, that Vash would be able to read all her shamefully transparent desires just by looking in her eyes. And knowing them he would not care….

Icy fear gripped her heart; she was drowning in despair. Her sense of self crumbling, she desperately longed to look away when suddenly – mercifully – a familiar awareness flashed out at her from behind the glasses, and their contact was broken as he quickly turned away.

Meryl blinked, the odd feeling of oppression fading and with it her disconcertion. Instead she soon found herself scowling at Vash's blatant evasion. How she hated it when he got like that. So damn infuriating! That he could be unhesitatingly open with his feelings – unashamedly even – and then just as suddenly throw up an impenetrable wall, unyieldingly inscrutable whether to friend or foe or… other. It made her feel helpless. So completely –

"Hopeless," she muttered.

"Did you say something, Meryl?" Milly was accepting her glass of milk from the bartender, who had just returned with their orders.

"No, nothing…," Meryl picked up the pouch of tea and passed it to her friend, then resignedly began to ready a cup for herself. She watched Milly pull open the drawstring and scoop out a heaping spoonful of the mixture, pausing just before dipping it in to take a deep whiff. Her face lit up.

"Mmm! Meryl, I think this is more of that Wilde's tonic!"

"Eh?" Curious, Meryl reached for the pouch and likewise took a sniff. She frowned. "Funny, I don't remember the tonic smelling like anything, Milly. At least certainly nothing as strong as this."

"Really? I noticed the smell right away…." Milly finished stirring her glass and took an appraising sip. "It even tastes the same. I wonder how that lady knew to make it?"

Meryl grimaced slightly, setting down her own prepared cup. It did taste essentially the same, though sometimes she felt that way about all teas. Still, Wilde's tonic was sweeter. This one had a slightly bitter tang.

"That's a good question," she replied, though sounding only half interested. She had noticed that Vash was staying conspicuously silent throughout their exchange.

"Maybe it's the milk," Milly offered.

"Maybe…"

Taking the last cup, Meryl carefully measured out a spoonful and mixed it into the water. Then, ever so gently, she slid it in front of the reticent gunman.

"Thank you," he murmured, refusing to meet her eyes.

Meryl only nodded. Yes, she really needed to talk to Vash. Just not tonight.

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Night had fallen on Bowe's Flats, granting its restless populace respite from a very trying day. Yet even as most people began to tuck in for the night, the town's nocturnal inhabitants were beginning to stir on their nightly sojourns.

On the northern outskirts of the town, one such figure crouched in the darkness, listening to an amorous cat singing to the many moons. This person, who had been patiently making his or her way through the back alleyways since sundown, now squatted behind a barrel, furtively scanning the area around for any signs of activity. Upon seeing nothing, the figure quickly scurried across an open expanse towards the hulking outline of Bowe's Flats Water Tower #2.

A large building, square and naked against the starry sky, stood at the foot of the water tower. Although there was a gate and guardhouse at the main entrance, no security patrolled the perimeters, no lights shone from any windows, and no alarm went off when a small window near the back was shattered. But then security had always been pathetically lax at the A&J Bottling Co., manufacturers of specialty medicine vials, cheap soda water, and exclusive bottlers of Wilde Thomas' Olde Tyme Tea Tonic.

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