Long Winded Authors Note of Explanation for Knives' Behavior: (I like talking in capitals, it makes me feel important ;). I couldn't really think of a reason at the time for Knives to be hanging around the house and not out machinating on bringing about his eden, getting his genocide on and just generally being the homicidal sociopath we all know and fear, I mean love... --; it just came out that way as I was writing it. The more epic story where Knives plays a pivotal role that I want to write isn't written yet so I'm posting this one. He doesn't have a very big part, sad to say. I meant to leave an authors note at the top or bottom of the page of the first chapter explaining why Vash's psychotic twin was acting so very OOC. But I forgot to. The only explanation I could come up with to explain his good behavior was that Vash must've "Asimoved" him. All you Babylon 5 fans out there know what I'm talking about! cricket noises ...um... anyone?
Well anyway if anyone has seen the movie "I, Robot" based on the book by the same title by Issac Asimov, you'll note in the beginning that there are three basic rules for robots: "No robot is allowed to harm a Human, or by inaction allow a human to come to harm." "A robot must obey orders given it by a human except where such orders would conflict with the first law." "A robot can protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the first or second law."
Well there was a scene in the fifth season of B-5 where the evil telepath Bester implants a psychic imperative on this guy who has it in for him (with very good reason, believe me) stating that Garibaldi can't kill him, and as he's explaining it to him he says something along the lines of "I "Asimoved" you," meaning that those three rules were implanted as a psychic imperative on his brain.
So that's kinda what Vash did; I figure he'd be pretty dumb not to have some kind of insurance on his twin to make sure he behaves himself and doesn't run around killing people again. Knives can't kill people because Vash implanted a psychic imperative while he was sleeping... and that's my story and I'm sticking to it, in case they ask.
Anyway now that that's over and done with, on with the second chapter!
"He's my ex-fiancée," she ground out. "And he's marrying my younger step-sister."
"Ouch," Vash said after a moment in which silence dominated the room.
"You never mentioned you had a fiancée Meryl," Milly said after another moment.
"I don't," she said shortly straightening her spine and picking up another form. After a long moment in which they all looked on curiously she finally added
"It was a long time ago. I've all but forgotten it now."
Not true, Vash thought, able to see that just by looking at her body language. She had turned back to her work and the clackity-clack of the keys of her typewriter was pronounced, her jaw was firm and there wasn't a hint of tremble about her lips but Vash easily tell that she had not just "forgotten about it." Her shoulders were tense as two coiled springs and her posture so stiff and correct Vash was certain that someone in the room had spent a portion of her life with a rod against her spine. There was also a very fine tremor of fury about her, a tension in her muscles that said she was trying to contain herself.
I wish she'd open up a little, Vash thought, not for the first time. From the long searching look Milly was giving her, Meryl's partner was easily thinking the same thing. He opened his mouth to say something but Milly shook her head and said
"Don't ask about it now Mister Vash," she cautioned him. "She'll say or not say about it when she's ready and not until then."
That's what I'm afraid of, he thought glumly. She plays her cards too close to her chest, and she's too mule-stubborn to know when to fold them.
Vash was aware of how she felt about him. Oh, her feelings weren't obvious, Meryl had been anything but blatant and her customary reserve had at first kept him from considering the notion that she might feel anything besides duty or, at best, a light friendship with him... but after everything that had happened and how she'd stayed with him he knew. He knew she didn't just consider him as a friend. And to be honest... he tucked the notion firmly away.
Not now, perhaps not ever.
His brother was dead-set against the idea. He had stated quite clearly in their first communications after he began to heal that the very notion of Vash mingling his genes with other species sickened him. He hadn't said but had certainly intimated that if Vash were to pursue the matter, his brother might be forced to break the oath that bound their truce... namely that the world would have one less human in it.
In Knives' mind he was protecting his brother (whether his brother wanted his protection or not), regardless about how Vash felt about having that stringent protection placed on him. He wasn't willing to engage in another battle with his twin over the matter, not when they'd finally reached some form of peace, no matter how fragile, after over a hundred years of feuding and suffering.
But at the same time, some things were worth fighting for. He'd never met a girl like Meryl, and Vash had been all over the world more than once. And if he lived another hundred years he didn't think he'd meet another like her. But that was when one of his brother's damned logical arguments against the idea came into play; she wouldn't live as long as he did. In another sixty or eighty years she'd be old, if not dead, and he'd likely still be the same.
So what, he argued back internally. People have the same life-span no matter what kind they are... we live until we die.
Knives was not prepared to listen to such an argument however; he pointed out that, despite the numerous and enthusiastic attempts on his life, Vash had managed to live this long. His twin had the notion that if he allowed the relationship to proceed the way Vash wanted it to, that when the girl finally did die Vash would loose his will to live. Knives did not want to be left as the only one.
Vash knew his brother felt threatened by her, deep down. His brother had one response for things that threatened him and that was to eliminate the threat. Knives would never believe that Vash could love more than one person. His twin could be prickly, controlling and exceedingly jealous (whether he realized it or not). For Knives there was no having both, it was "either you love me or you love her." It always had been that way. Vash suspected that was part of the reason he'd tried to get rid of humanity; he just plain didn't like competition.
So who's this ex-fiancée of hers? he wondered. He didn't need to be a telepath to feel the waves of fury radiating off from her. Whatever had happened "a long time ago", she was still pissed.
Of course, she's always pissed, he thought. It was usually his fault.
But to her credit, Meryl might be quick to anger (the term "hair-trigger" had to have been invented just for her) but she was also quick to forgive too. She could easily be described as "prickly as a cactus" but once her hard, suspicious outer shell had been breached, Meryl was...
Okay, maybe not soft, he reconsidered. But she was caring and kind, generous and willing to do anything, brave any danger, for the ones she cared about. She had a lot of good qualities (and her share of flaws, but who didn't?) he just didn't see why she went to such pains to hide her softer side.
I don't really feel like going home, Meryl pouted, if only in the privacy of her mind.
"Sir?" Meryl said a little hesitantly. The barkeep, one Lewis Plummer who had owned and operated the establishment for the last fifteen years (inherited from his father and so on) looked up in question at his newest waitress. Meryl wasn't entirely certain what he thought of her, she did tend to go through the trays on a fairly regular basis, and her short fuse had cost them the occasional wanderer; although the regulars certainly seemed to take delight in her viper-tonged harangues; they'd taken to calling her "Old Faithful" in honor of a famous geyser on earth that had blown up with infamous regularity. The owner of the establishment had never said one way or the other how he felt about her violent temper. Then, this was a bar... she was probably something he wasn't unaccustomed to seeing the likes of.
"Yes, Miss Meryl?" the Mr. Plummer inquired.
"Do you mind if I...?" she inclined her head over to the tiny piano nestled away in the corner collecting dust. His eyebrows rose with surprise as he said
"I didn't know you played."
"I learned when I was younger," Meryl replied. It was part of "a ladylike upbringing" or so her stepmother had said. Meryl had hated the instruction in classical piano; Chopin, Bach, and Tchaicovsky were, in her opinion, worn out saws that any one with a rudimentary awareness of the classics knew how to play. She'd hated baroque fustiness and in her opinion they should have stayed that way (broke, that was heh heh) but now, when her nerves were so frazzled and she was feeling so on-edge Meryl was inclined to find those once-hated old classics soothing, like the embrace of an old friend.
Chopin instead of Mozart I think, she decided.
The thing was sadly off-key, she noted as her fingers, accustomed to dancing so easily over the keys of a typewriter, settled on the yellow-aged faux ivory keys of the tiny standing piano. Her family had, of course, been able to afford a full grand which was kept in tune even though no-one really played it, the strange way the strings were condensed in order to fold a horizontal harp-shaped sound box into a vertical rectangular box played madness with the acoustics as well. She didn't mind though.
It only took one movement through a piece of the old classics before that famous feeling of rebellion crept up o her again. She hadn't liked learning those old songs then, and even as an adult had little appreciation for their classical beauty, when she'd been a girl she'd rebelled just a little and snuck leaflets of rock songs and popular music in with her tutor's precious Mozart and... guy with the funny Russian name, something like Rashminov(1) or something.
"Why Miss Meryl," the old barkeep said, his voice lighting with surprise and pleasure. "You're real good!"
"I ought to be," Meryl replied with a crooked smile. "My teacher slapped my hands with a ruler when I flubbed up."
She rolled her hands down the keys and into a segue that led straight to an old favorite of hers by Sheryl Crow. Her step-mother had hated Sheryl Crow, a rock artist from the twentieth century that Meryl had taken a liking to early on. Her father's old electronic musical archive had been converted into an old fashioned record for the gramophone that Meryl had worshiped. It had been that and the Beatles.
I wish she'd let me learn guitar like I wanted to instead, Meryl thought wistfully. She was an adult now and could certainly hire the lessons for herself if she wanted them, but now it appeared she didn't have the time.
"I don't believe I've ever heard that song before," Lewis said curiously.
"I'm just instrumentalizing it," Meryl said wryly. "You don't want to hear me sing, I'm terrible."
"Aww c'mon, can't be any worse than the drunken chorus of "every sperm is sacred" he replied good-naturedly.
"Don't say I didn't warn you," Meryl said, shrugging with her voice. She started the song over and added what she remembered of the words
"My yesterdays are all boxed up, and neatly put away... but every now and then you come to mind..."
Lewis winced a little and said
"I was warned, you don't have the voice for mezzo."
Meryl nodded agreement, but that didn't lessen her enjoyment of the song. She didn't care if she could sing it well, she just liked the music.
"You were always waiting da da da dada dada" Meryl smiled sheepishly at not remembering the words, she'd known them by heart as a girl but it had been a long time since she'd thought of them. "But when your name was called you found a place to hide. When you knew that I was always on your side." She instrumentalized the chorus, because if her singing mezzo sounded bad, Meryl trying to sing a higher key was truly atrocious.
Too melancholy by half and someone would think that I'm sining about that idiot! she thought to herself. Although which idiot she was singing about, past or present, even Meryl didn't know.
She switched songs.
"Walk with me the Diamond Road. Tell me every story told. Give me something of your soul so you don't fade away... I wanna wake up to the sound of waves. Crashing on a brand new day. Keep the memory of your face but wipe the pain away... When you're lonely, when your heart aches. It's gonna take a little time. To make it to the other side..."
"Sempai!" Millie said in surprise from the doorway. " I didn't know you could sing!"
"If you want to call it that, personally I'd say I'm murdering my way through it," Meryl replied wryly, a little piqued at having been interrupted from her Sheryl Crow groove. She nodded to the bench next to her. "Have a seat, this song takes two people to sing it right anyway."
She proceeded to teach her best friend in the world the second (hidden) chorus, the part that was said simultaneously with the original chorus. They had good fun as only two best friends who really understand each other and are touched by the same things can.
"... no no no," Meryl said pausing her playing. "You sing it with me, don't wait until I'm done. I'll sing, "when you're lonely" and you sing "you're not alone" when I start the next verse got it?"
They made their way raggedly through a chorus. They weren't any good, but oddly when they sang it together they managed to sound halfway decent. Meryl was smiling by the end of it. So was Millie.
"I like that song Meryl," Millie said. "I think I'll make it my new theme song."
"It's my favorite too, what was your old one?"
"Jujubee's "Dusty Traveler" Meryl gave her friend a weird look and said
"Never heard of it."
"They were the biggest hit on the satellite about six years ago. I stood in line three hours to buy their record when they toured through our district. Me and a friend spent four days on the road sleeping under porches and raiding dumpsters just to see one of their concerts at the dome in Blue City." This said with the pride of a true fan swapping horror stories about the lengths they would go to to be near their idol.
"Millie? You're a groupie?" Meryl said in surprise. She hadn't known that about her friend.
"Yep," Millie said proudly. "How about you Meryl? Worship any bands when you were growing up?"
"The only ones I knew of had been dead for hundreds of years. My step-mother was of the opinion that having satellite within the house would "corrupt our morality" or something like that."
There was a long pause while Meryl played random bits of whatever came to mind, out of the corner of her eyes she saw Millie struggling with herself over something. Meryl decided to relent and have pity on her poor friend.
"You know that wedding invitation I received earlier?" she said at last. Millie nodded, vitally interested.
"I've decided I'm going to go," Meryl said with the firmness of a Stryfe who has made up her mind.
"Are you sure Meryl?" Millie asked a little hesitantly. "When we spoke of it last time, you were dead set against it."
"I don't want to go, but I think staying away would be worse in the long run. Besides, my father and i aren't on speaking terms right now and to be painfully honest both of us are too mule stubborn ever admit that we were both wrong. The situation has festered long enough."
"Gee sempai, I didn't know you and your father weren't talking to each other," Millie said, sounding dismayed. "Is there anything I can do?"
"No Millie, it's just... stupid pride. I get that from him, I guess."
Her hands faltered on the keys and silence invaded the room like a wet wool blanket. Meryl's eyes were far away and her voice was wistful when she spoke next
"I always felt a little jealous of you when you told me your stories about your home and family. I wished that my family was more like yours."
"Gosh Meryl... you never said!" Millie said sounding surprised.
"You probably guessed by now that I'm not good at talking about what's on the inside. A lot of it's my upbringing, my father's a workaholic as well as being strict and old-fashioned. We're taught to keep that reserve, even among family; "stiff upper lip" and all that. It's hard learning for me to be open with people, I'm just not used to it!"
"Is that why you haven't told Mister Vash how you feel about him?" Millie inquired a little delicately but also with some censure toward her friend.
"That's part of it," Meryl said. "Another part of it is..." Millie waited patiently while Meryl searched for words and courage to say things that were for her so difficult to say.
"...Is that I did once," she said, trying not to let her voice shake though it was plain to her best friend that holding in the emotions evoked by the memories of whatever had happened was difficult as talking about it was.
"Not Vash you see, but someone else. When I was young I threw all caution, all reserve, everything completely to the winds. I fell in love, willingly threw myself off the edge defiantly in fact, and trusted in the air to hold me up. It didn't." The sad hollow finality in her voice was something Millie could resonate with.
"A person only brings herself to love that freely once," Meryl said. "I overcame my native sense of caution that first time perhaps because of youth and naivety, but ever since then I've liked the ground firmly beneath my feet. I don't know that I'm strong enough to fight my nature. But I've decided..."
She paused and gave her friend a hopeful smile then continued
"And I hope you'll support me in this. I've decided that with-holding from joy for fear of pain is no way to live at all. That's part of the reason I've decided to attend this little family gathering. I think I need to face the past that hurt me and know that my wounds are fully healed over before I can go on with my life. Also, I think I should repair damages with my father... we had a falling out before I left and the rift has never been sealed between us. And lastly..." here she gave her friend a mischievous conspiratorial smile. "I want to see them all drop a litter of kittens when they find out I spend my days as a barmaid and my nights shacked up with a notorious outlaw gunman."
Millie and Meryl both shared a laugh over that and waved a goodbye to the barkeep as they made their way home.
"So how are you going to handle your first love, and I assume this guy you alluded to earlier is the same one who is now marrying your sister?"
"Yes he is, or was... or whatever. I haven't really thought much about it. The petty part of me wants to just show up there looking utterly sensational on the arm of mister tall, tall and handsome just to show them all that their opinions don't matter anymore."
"Why not do that Meryl?" Millie questioned.
"It's tempting, believe me. I think in the end, however, it wouldn't be right. I don't want to misrepresent myself and I just can't lie to family, I may not like them some or even most of the time but I can't do that either so... I'll just have to walk in there, brazenly truthful. They can just learn to accept me for who I am for a change. Frankly; I'm just tired of being judged by them. I'm tired of being held up to some stupid impossible standard and basically told "measure up or we won't love you." I'm tired of that Millie!"
Meryl looked shocked at herself. The kind of shock that comes with a personal epiphany.
"Boy, where did that come from...?" Meryl said, looking embarrassed.
"Your heart I would imagine," Millie replied with perfect equanimity.
Vash looked at her from the corner of his eye as they steamer pulled up to the station in Purgatory City, where Meryl said they would have some form of conveyance waiting for them to bring them all to her home. She was nervous and trying hard not to show it; she didn't fidget openly and her face was a mask of serenity (was that ever a change!) but there was a tension in her shoulders a darkening of worry in her lavender-grey eyes that betrayed her to someone who knew her well.
The differences were subtle, not anything overt but she had gone out of her way to look her best that morning. Her clothes were even whiter than usual, she'd double bleached them the night before. Meryl had actually ironed her cape. Vash didn't want to think of how long that had taken her. She usually favored a very minimalist style for make up; a touch of cover-up to block out the UV rays, lip-balm and that was about it but today she not only had used base, but powder, blush, eye-shadow, pencil and mascara as well as actual lipstick. She was artfully subtle about it but there was a plain difference. Her hair wasn't the wind-blown natural look she usually seemed to favor either. That morning she had tamed it down, he didn't even want to think how, and managed some form of style despite the fact that it was so short.
Vash was tempted to take her hand in his and reassure her that no matter what kind of vipers nest they were walking into, everything would be fine.
Yeah, right... he thought to himself. I'm the last person who should tell her that everything should be fine. Due to some quirk of the universe, Vash suffered under some malignant cloud of disaster. His brother had been responsible for a good deal of it but even when he wasn't directly or indirectly responsible... Vash just had bad luck. He was a trouble-magnet, a lightning rod for all sort of odd disasters. It wasn't really his fault but just the same something always seemed to come along and mess things up. It was a good thing that he was such an optimist because his life would be considered proof of truth for a pessimist.
Meryl wouldn't want the reassurance anyway. She was prickly; independent and self-reliant to a fault. She'd see any attempt at comfort or commiseration as a criticism of her ability to handle it.
Maybe unless you're like Millie, family just inevitably screws your life up, he thought a little glumly. He'd had the devils own time wringing a promise from his twin to be on his best behavior. As far as Knives was concerned they were both going for the free food. That was alright, Meryl had reassured him that his brother didn't even have to come to the reception, if he liked he could just stay in the room she'd arranged for them and live off the room service provided by the House.
As soon as they stepped off from the steamer a young man in the uniform of a bell-hop came to take thier bags and check them though customs while another young man offered to carry their personal items. After he was politely declined a young woman, also dressed in the uniform of the service, came to offer them tea and take them to the lounge to wait until the arrival of their expected conveyance.
"Gee Meryl," Millie said, a little unsettled by the obsequious offers of assistance and "if you need anything just ring" coming at her from all angles. "You certainly seem to be well known around here..."
Meryl for her part looked a little embarrassed.
"Sorry about all of that," she muttered. "My family is a little...demanding when they travel, and have the money to be so I guess. I'd forgotten what it was like, after so long of roughing it out on the frontier. I miss the frontier already." That last in an undertone.
"Miss Meryl!" a voice called off to the right. It was an elderly voice but elegant with the accent of fine breeding. Vash looked over to see a tall skinny grey-haired gentleman in a pressed suit with an air of superiority hovering about him waiting off to one side.
"Mister Bernard!" Meryl called, waving good-naturedly at him. In an aside to Millie and Vash she said "Mister Bernard is our butler and chauffeur, Father must have sent him to pick us up."
The conveyance that had been arranged for them was nothing short of an actual stretch Hummer; vintage, no less. It gleamed from a fresh wash and wax job beneath the light of the suns. Meryl didn't seem to notice however as she heartily shook the hand of her old butler.
"It is good to see you again Missus," Bernard said skilfully taking her carry-on from her and ordering the young man who had taken all of their bags at customs and was toting them around in a luggage carrier to set them in the truck carefully.
Geeze! Vash thought a little taken aback by how everything was being managed with a ubiquitous brisk efficiency. The old saying is right, Money talks. A lot of money sings and dances.
Just exactly how rich was her family that she'd have people bowing and scraping to her as soon as she dropped her name? She left a tip with the bag-boy and gave the rest of her party a small tight smile of nervousness and said
"Well, in we go."
(1) Rachmaninov ( I think that's how you spell his name.)
Yet another useless authors note: (you can ignore this if you want). Yes, yes, part of this chapter is nothing more than my altar for offering paeans of praise for my all time favorite singer/songwriter. You're free to disagree, but I think Sheryl Crow is the best thing that ever happened to music (aside of maybe the Beatles), I've been a follower of hers from the very start of her career, and her music has been a constant in my life since my early teens. I also believe that good music, good songwriting, never dies. I love her song Diamond Road, whenever I'm feeling down or bummed out about something I just need to listen to that song and it reminds me about hope, and before I realize it, I'm smiling again. So there we have it.