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For nearly three years, Meryl had been chasing what felt like a pipe dream. After following what felt like thousands of leads that led nowhere, her patience was wearing thin. If she received another false report of some Vash the Stampede wannabe, she may just bury her head in the sand.
Even Milly, who had become one of her closest confidants, seemed wary of Meryl's conviction. She did her best to support her, but it was clear that she too had grown uncertain of Meryl's objective. If only Julai hadn't been turned to dust, completely wiped from the planet as though it were a mirage.
On a day like any other, the duo had been following yet another lead, this one just as promising as the previous hundred. It was simple: a small-town sheriff claims to have seen a blonde gunman traveling with a young girl, apparently heading west in a hurry. It took everything in her to suppress the spark of excitement igniting inside her—better to expect the worst and avoid a broken heart.
But as the trail grew hotter and hotter, her heart soared with each piece of evidence pointing to the gunman, a confirmation that her suspicion nurtured deep in her being wasn’t just denial. Milly teased her relentlessly, quick to call out her intense investment in an otherwise minor tip-off.
When they reached Plant Ship 3, Meryl's heart sank to her stomach. The security blanket created by the sandstorm surrounding the perimeter has vanished, leaving a shell of a colony ship on full display to the mid-day sun. She and Milly traversed cautiously through the deserted halls, nearly jumping out of their skins at even the faintest sound. As they rounded the corner into the central sector, Meryl froze.
Albeit distant, the sound was unmistakable: gunshots. Not just one, but a whole barrage.
She quickly took Milly's hand, yanking her into a storage closet as her heart pounded wildly against her ribs. No wonder the ship appeared deserted and why the spacecraft hovered in the air practically begging to be attacked.
She sank to the floor in defeat, humming as a distraction from her racing thoughts.
What was her next step?
In mere moments, her mind is made up and her resolve hardens. She can't run away, it's not what was right.
She rose, hand hovering over the derringer tucked neatly into her back pocket. Meryl instructed Milly to stay close, ready to disarm any threats coming their way.
As they pushed the doors open to the data storage room, they found that the fight was already over. A wave of relief washed over them, brief and shallow, before the ground beneath them began to crumble. In a panic she reached for the railing, white-knuckling the bars and shutting her eyes as they fell. They land with a harsh thud, jolting Meryl to the core. If not for Milly keeping a steady hand on her back, she may have fallen completely.
Then, through the corner of her eye, she catches a flash of blonde.
Her entire world ceased to a halt, her body turning in slow motion as she met the gaze of a man she had sworn she'd never see again.
His hair had grown long, now level with his shoulders with dark streaks peeking from behind his ears. His glasses have seemingly disappeared, leaving him without a mask to hide behind. She could finally read his expression clearly – complete and utter shock mingled with anxiety.
She doesn't realize she had walked over to him until she was mere feet away – drawn to him as though they were a pair of magnets. Her mind raced, jumbled with all the things she longed to say all twisted into a tangle of raw emotions.
Now in front of him, he towers over her, still broad despite the clear weight loss. His baby blue eyes meet hers with a softness that nearly caused her to forget the last two years. Her gaze flits across his face, tracing the outline of his jaw.
Ever so slowly she reaches out, her fingertips grazing his stubbled jaw. He says nothing, merely staring back with his mouth slightly agape. She takes in the dark lines of his face, his cheeks hollowed out and his gaze worn down.
“So I'm not dreaming,” she whispered, barely audible.
“It really is you.”
He blinks wildly, but just as he's about to reply the passengers of the ship come pouring through the doors, whisking their savior with them. Meryl is left behind, her hand still held out as he's ushered out of the room.
A large knot forms in her throat, riddled with worry.
Everyone is brought to the main foyer of the ship, a makeshift infirmary for the injured passengers. Although it appeared that the majority of the colony made it out unscathed, a few weren't so lucky, lying on gurneys groaning in pain.
She quickly spots Wolfwood and Vash in the corner, surrounded by a group of plant researchers. She can tell from the undertaker's expression alone that they're fawning over them, profusely thanking them for saving the day once again.
Meryl is whisked away into her own corner, bombarded with bandages and ointments to treat her superficial wounds. While Jessica patches her up, she spaces out, hoping to find a speck of blonde in a sea of brunettes.
“There, as good as new!” The girl chips, finishing with a final bandage on Meryl's forearm. Milly hands her a cup of tea and settles beside her. Meryl mumbles a quick thank you, averting her gaze to the pile of leaves at the bottom of her drink.
“I didn't realize you and Mr.Vash were so close, Meryl!” Milly teased, stirring a generous helping of sugar into her drink.
Meryl nearly chokes on her drink, thrown off by the sudden call-out. She had tried so hard to keep her true feelings about him under wraps, avoiding the relentless questions that would come if Milly caught on.
“W-well, not really” she stammered. “It's just been a while, and honestly, I couldn’t believe how much he's changed…”
Milly nods, her gaze following a couple chattering in a corner booth.
“Still though, it's not everyday you meet a guy like that.” MIlly thinks aloud.
Meryl stares into her drink, swirling the liquid to watch the leaves dance at the bottom.
It’s almost laughable. For all the time she’d known Vash, “just some guy” was never a label she'd prescribe to him. He was a lot of things—reckless, infuriating, and charming—to name a few. Despite it all, she couldn't find it in herself to completely fear him.
His reputation as the Humanoid Typhoon ringed infamously across the planet — his bounty, the destruction and the lives lost couldn’t be easily excused.
But no one knew Vash like she did. They'll never know his darkest fears, his favorite food or the small gestures that easily give away his intentions. If she could share her experiences with the world, she'd do it in a heartbeat.
“You’re smiling,” Milly teases again. Meryl flushes furiously, taking a final swig of her drink before abruptly standing.
“Everything okay?” She asks, already rising to join her side.
Meryl nods hastily, gesturing behind her.
“Never better!” she yelps. “Just running to the ladies’ room quickly.”
Milly gives her a nod, settling back down as Meryl books it to the nearest bathroom. She nearly kicks the door down, rushing over to one of the mirrors. She stared into her reflection: deep circles around her eyes, tousled hair, and fresh bruises beginning to form, topped off with red, hot cheeks.
She groans, splashing ice cold water on her face and taking deep breaths to reset.
After rejoining the group, she swipes a loose magazine from a table and makes her way to an empty booth, flipping through the pages to distract herself from her troubles. A flash of color appears in her periphery, so fast she begins to question her vision.
Their eyes meet briefly, a few milliseconds, yet her heart skips a beat. She averts her gaze, praying he hadn’t noticed her silent vigil. From across the room, Vash sits at a full table, engaging in casual conversation with Luida and Brad. She cracks a smile; his facade remains unchanged.
She watches for a while, allowing herself brief glances here and there. She could catch bits of his laughter from across the room, so contradictory to the sadness hidden under all those layers. She wishes there was a way to get him alone, even if for a second.
Out of the blue, Vash finally stands, taking his tray and dropping it off with the cooks. He gives an apologetic bow to the group, waving as he turns on his heel and exits the room.
This was her chance.
She quickly made her own escape, following his trail to the sleeping quarters. She made sure to stay a few feet behind, walking on her tiptoes to avoid alerting him. From the corner she watched as he typed in a familiar code and entered the room.
She settles at the window, crouching to avoid being caught when she looked through the glass.
Inside the room, Vash silently peels off his blood-stained shirt with a yawn, his back turned to her.
Her mouth immediately runs dry.
The sight of his body made her shiver—the burns, lacerations, and stitches holding him together—causing the knot in her throat to return. Wolfwood had briefly mentioned the price Vash pays for his pacifism, yet she never imagined the truth looked like this.
On his shoulder she spots an angry red gash, oozing with infection. He winces upon brushing his fingers over the wound, cussing under his breath. Meryl has to cover her mouth to hide a choked sob.
He was so much older, had seen so much and endured relentless pain, yet he still stands.
Holding back tears she finally stands, reaching for the keypad and pressing in the code with shaky hands. She carefully crosses the threshold, despite knowing of his sharp hearing.
She chewed her cheek, ready to speak only to be cut off.
“It's good to see you again, Meryl.” Vash says fondly, so softly it hurts.
Everything she was going to say immediately vanishes, now left standing stupidly with her jaw open. She laughs, strained and laced with confusion. He then faces her, offering a crooked smile.
“Sorry,” he begins. “I didn't mean to cut you off.”
She guffaws.
“Not that it mattered,” she replies sharply, her words stinging. Her frustration was seeping through.
He nods, hanging his head and fiddling with his hands. Without a word he opens the drawer of the nightstand beside him, sifting through junk.
Meryl takes a deep, wavering breath.
“Why, Vash? ” she utters, arms wrapping around herself in
He freezes. If she wasn't so intent on maintaining composure she would grab his jaw and force him to look at her, to read his expression as he's confronted with the ghosts of the past.
“I-” he begins, only to be cut off.
“No, I want the truth.” she grunts. “Why didn't you come back? We were all worried sick!” She hates that her voice cracks, her facade crumbling.
He says nothing, allowing the silence to draw out.
“We?” he finally utters, his gaze fixated on the collage of photos decorating the wall ahead.
She pouts and narrows her eyes. As always, he was tiptoeing around being honest.
“Yes, we. Did you really think we’d all just move on? Do you know how long Wolfwood and I searched for you?”
His jaw goes slack, laughing weakly.
“Can’t believe you guys went through all that trouble for me,” he says, running a hand through his hair.
Meryl groans, steeling herself for the next part.
“Of course. We care about you, Vash. I care about you. Don’t you get it?” She laments, a few tears spill down her cheeks.
He hangs his head, blonde and black cascading down and obstructing his face.
“I was scared,” he whispered.
She pauses, hanging on his next words. .
“After everything I've done, the guilt that weighs in my chest…I couldn't come back,” he says. “I couldn't face the pain I've caused you…it would kill me.”
She inhales sharply, mulling his words over.
Given his bounty, danger was inevitable. But, it was part of the job as a senior reporter.
“But Vash, you wouldn’t hurt me. You’re not like that.” She cooes, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“I don’t know what I am anymore,” he chokes out, seething with frustration. “One second I'm chasing a dream, the next staring at the carnage I leave behind.”
Meryl's gaze falls to his newest wound.
“Vash…” she murmurs, yearning to pull him in close to help him forget about the world for a moment.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he leans forward and grabs a piece of paper from the nightstand. Meryl leans in, her curiosity getting the best of her. She gasps softly.
“Is that —?”
He nods, a choked laugh escaping his throat.
“Yeah… Rem insisted we take a family photo…for memories.” His lip quivers ever so slightly.
Meryl smiles softly, swiping the tears off her face before tracing a finger over Rem’s face in the photo.
“She looks so happy…I can tell she loved you boys.”
He blinks, tears finally streaming down his face. Meryl attempts to catch his gaze, but it's of no use. The silence between them grows heavy, filled with unresolved feelings and sorrow.
She wants to say something — anything — but words failed her.
Vash clutched the photo to his chest, mumbling softly before curling in on himself like a small child.
She leans closer, straining to hear his incantation. Her eyes widen when it finally clicks.
“I’m sorry.”
He repeats it over and over again, his voice trembling more each time. He almost sounds as though he's struggling to breathe.
Her heart shattered watching him unravel, knowing that she could never understand the pain.
His sobs shake his body, uncontrollable as he wraps his arms tightly around himself.
In an instant she snaps. She scoots closer, wrapping her arms around his trembling body and pressing her tear-streaked cheek to his back.
No words — only the shared weight of their pain.
Whether minutes or hours past she couldn't tell, it hardly mattered.
When his sobs finally slow to hiccups, she raises her head. She wipes at her nose with her sleeve, sniffling as though she had a cold.
Vash straightens himself, releasing the crouched pose he brought himself into. Meryl painstakingly pulls away, her fingers lingering on the bed beside him. Vash straightened himself out, forcing her to pull away her hands from where they securely sat around his waist.
He stares ahead at the sepia photography, lost in the memory of a simpler time.
Her skin crawled with shame—feeling like an intruder.
He moves then, placing the Polaroid to his forehead as if drawing strength.
“She’d be proud of you, y’know,” she whispers. “You’re no monster — not to me.”
He then lowers the photo, his eyes glazed over as he stares into the distressed wall ahead. Maybe she shouldn’t have spoken. Maybe she should've just let him be the one that got away.
Just as she pushes herself off his bed, she feels a firm hand grasp her wrist.
“Meryl?”
His voice was sickly sweet—so tender she could feel her teeth rotting.
She halts, peeking over her shoulder.
“I just wanted to say…thank you. For everything.”
A smile cracks through her exhaustion and her heart soars.
“There’s no need to thank me,” she assures. “I’m just doing what I can.”
He nods, using his thumb to wipe away a tear drying on his face. Without thinking, he runs his thumb across her palm, stirring another wave of butterflies in her stomach.
She turns back to face him, fixing her grip on his hand so that their palms align. She hesitates a moment, then brings her free hand to caress his jaw.
He leans into her palm, humming lowly and closing his eyes in relaxation. She strokes her thumb across his cheeks, over the trail of tear streaks still damp.
She wishes this moment could last a lifetime—seeing the side of him hidden beneath years of pain and exile.
Out of the corner of her eye, she notices the clock strike midnight. She had no idea how long she’d stayed. She can only imagine the ridicule she'll endure tomorrow from Wolfwood and Milly.
Painstakingly, she pulls her hand away. He opens his eyes, looking up to her as though she were an angel.
“It’s getting late,” she says gently. “Milly will be wondering where I am if I don’t get back.”
He sighs, shifting on the mattress, stopped by her hand on his chest.
“You don’t have to worry about me—I'll be fine.” She assures him.
His brow furrows, disappointment flickering.
“Are you sure? This ship is pretty—”
She cuts him off with a finger to his lips.
“Vash, I've got this.” she says with a smile. “Trust me, I've gotten used to the layout after staying here for two years,” softly.
He smiles, scratching at the back of his neck awkwardly.
Meryl then turns toward the door. Vash watched her, chewing on his cheek nervously as she neared the exit.
“Meryl?” he asks softly.
She pauses, a wave of warmth washing over her as she peers behind. .
“Sleep well…”
He looks away, cheeks turning ruddy.
She whispers back.
“You too, Vash.”
The door clicks closed behind her, leaving him alone in a room filled with quiet solitude. He brings a hand to his face, retracing her touch.
In the hallway, Meryl lingers against the wall, not yet ready to leave him alone for the evening. Only when distant voices approach did she slip away to her sleeping quarters.
She breathes a sigh of relief when she finds the room empty, quickly getting undressed and ready for bed. She tucks the covers under her chin, nuzzling into the pillow smelling of lilac.
As her eyes grew heavy, she didn't resist. After years of nightmares, she finally let herself hope for real sleep.