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Their busted radio doesn’t get many stations - there aren’t many stations to get in the first place, to be fair to the old beaten thing. And Meryl has always felt a certain amount of compassion to inanimate objects, sympathetic to the hard work that their little radio does. Especially because if it dies and finally gives up the ghost, they’ll be left in the silence of the sands for weeks if not months to scrounge up the money and luck to find another.
Evening falls across the desert soft and silent -a killer to inexperienced travelers who aren’t expecting how cold it will get in the next few hours. But none of them are travelers anymore. The house still feels ‘new’, in a way that Meryl has a hard time putting into words. She thinks that she could live here for years and years, and still think of living here as a new development. The house itself is far from pristine, with decayed creaking wood and leaky faucets. But she thinks that it matches them, in a lot of ways. Old and worn at the edges, but still hanging in there. Still a home.
The home also gives them plenty of options for how to fill their time. It is rewarding to fix things, piece by piece. Wolfwood works on those leaky pipes, and Meryl spends an evening fixing the roof tiles that have been letting in more sand than they can ever hope to sweep out.
Wolfwood’s fiddling with the radio dial, face screwed up in concentration. Over the past few months, they’ve attached a myriad of wires to the antennae - anything to try and improve the signal. He’s bent over the piece of machinery, their creation frame’s his head, making it look like a bizarre crown of sorts. The hiss and crackle of static fills the room, occasionally interrupted by barely decipherable words.
Vash has been hiding today. He came to breakfast, and exchanged a few niceties at lunch. The water had run a little while ago - the walls are thin and the pipes are loud - so he must have decided to take a shower or a bath at some point. Other than that he has been absent. They’ve become accustomed to Vash’s bad days. They come like any other weather, a change in the air that you can never seem to quite place, and the wind storm rolls in. Meryl and Wolfwood have their share of bad days too. They try to give each other the room they need. But something about Vash’s bad days always makes Meryl scared in a way that Wolfwoods’ never do.
If Wolfwood wakes up to a day where he is more rough edges, filled with glass and sharp things, he’ll go out and smoke. Try his hand at fixing the porch again - the old thing more decay than wood. When it’s exceptionally bad he’ll take the Punisher up from where it rests against the living room wall these days. Wolfwood will take the cross her bears upon his back once again, take the car, and leave. Usually for no longer than a day, but once for as long as a week. Meryl suspected he went to check in on Hopeland. But even when he didn’t return for the fifth day in a row, Meryl knows that Wolfwood will always come back.
Vash’s bad days have no such guarantee.
Vash doesn’t leave, Vash vanishes into himself. Curls in and stops using words, flinches more at loud sounds and voices. He will curl up on his bed and stare at the wall, empty and hollow looking in a way that twists Meryls’ gut in a specific way. Vash disappears for days at a time, and sometimes he doesn’t ever return. Meryl will go back into the room one day to see him looking at her, through her, with no recognition. And Meryl will know that Vash lost a piece of himself again. Sometimes things will come back, sometimes they never will. Letting go is not something that Meryl is used to, but it is something that she has been learning. Both her and Wolfwood will take sometime to mourn, and then they will start again.
Vash’s bad days put them both a little on edge.
Wolfwood swears at the radio, and then finally the static parts like the sands after a storm and the warm, slow sounds of a guitar comes out from over the dunes and fills the small room.
“This is a good one.” Meryl says, reclining against the kitchen counter. She lets her eyes drift closed for a moment and soaks in the music.
“Better be,” Wolfwood stands up, and his limbs crack and creak at the action. “...because I don’t think I can stay crouched infront of that thing for another fifteen minutes.” Wolfwood shifts over to the moth eaten couch pulls over the dining room chair that’s been having issues lately, turning it over so the feet of the legs leer up at him. Meryl just watches as he checks each one until he locates the leg that they’ve heard splintering the last few days every time someone took a seat on it. He starts to take some measurements and jots them down in one of Meryl’s notebooks that she’s lent him - given him really. She doesn’t intend to ask for it back. And the concept of property between the two of them has become loose the last few months.
Suddenly, apropos nothing, Wolfwood lets’ out a chuckle.
“What’re you giggling at?”
“You, shorty. Enjoying the music?” Wolfwood has that little grin on his face, the kind like he knows some sort of a secret.
“...Yes?” She replies cautiously. “Is there something wrong?”
“You’re dancing.” He let’s out another laugh. Meryl glances down at herself.
“I don’t think I am.”
“Shimmying then - you’re doing a little shimmy to the music.” Wolfwood sets the tape measure aside, fully investing himself into his light ribbing of Meryl.
“Well if I am then I’m doing it subconsciously.” She huffs. Meryl can feel the blood rising to her cheeks - they tend to light up at the lightest heat on a good day, much less when Wolfwoods’ full attention and teasing power is on her.
“Bet you know how to dance too, right? From that fancy school you went to.”
“As a matter of fact I do know how to dance.” Meryl pushes herself off from leaning on the counter and puts her hands on her hips. “But not from the University. I never took classes on it and, uh, I never got asked to the dances.” Meryl hurries so as not to let that fact sit in the air too long - she was enjoying the banter, she didn’t want pity. “My dad taught me. He used to dance me around the kitchen while he cooked dinner.” It was hard for him to teach her properly, she was so much smaller than him, but loved being twirled around in big circles. It left her giggling and out of breath. “What about you?”
Woflwood raised one his eyebrows.
“Oh yeah, the Eye Of Michael was big on teaching tap.” He says drily. “Take a long moment, shorty. Do I really look like I know how to dance?” He topped off the comment with a roll of his eyes and an exasperated sigh, picking back up the tape measure.
In a few quick strides Meryl crossed the room to him, hand extended. Wolfwood glanced up from his work and stared at it nonplussed for a moment before raising his eyes to look Meryl in the face.
“What do you want? Are we gonna start panhandling to each other? Cuz I hate to tell you but all out money goes into the same pool, so taking money from me won’t make you any richer.” Meryl took her own turn to roll her eyes.
“I’m gonna teach you.”
“Teach me what?”
“To dance! God you act so clever and then you’re suddenly so dense!” She exclaimed and just went the rest of the way, grabbing his hand and pulling him to his feet. If he really didn’t want to, she knew he’d have no problem wrenching himself out of his grip. If he wanted to, he’d have no problem snapping each of her arms and legs like twig. It was the fact that she knew he never would, that he humored her enough to rise to his feet like she had any sway over him at all that made Meryl like him so much.
“I thought you wanted this chair fixed. I’m gonna need to make a new leg you know.” He slumped and dragged his feet as she led him to the most open place in the room - the area between the front door and the stairs.
“Oh because we’re so busy that you’ll never find another quiet moment to get it done.” She playfully patted his arm.
“Alright.” Wolfwood let out another loud sigh, the big and dramatic kind that made his entire frame and shoulders slump with it. But Meryl wasn’t fooled, Meryl saw the curiosity, the small spark of excitement gleaming in his eyes.
“I’m gonna need you’re other hand.” Meryl once again held her hand out. This time Wolfwood met her halfway. It had been a long time since he had needed to use his drugs, and as a result his hands had grown calloused and rough. Meryl couldn’t resist rubbing her thumb across the back of them a few times. “So a couples dance it made up of a pair. One person leads, and one person follows.” Meryl guided his left hand to her shoulder, and placed hers on his waist. Holding him like he was something fragile. When was the last time someone had held him like that? Been careful with him? He shifted under her touch, not away from it, but leaning slightly into it.
“You’re the leader then, little miss bossy?” Wolfwood said, sarcastic tone at odds with his gentle body language.
“I’m the leader because I know what I’m doing. If you get good enough, maybe I’ll let you lead.”
“You’re assuming that I’m not so bad you swear off dancing forever.” He pointed out.
“We’ll start off simple. Let’s get you to sway to the beat - my dad used to say that’s the start of any dance, learning to feel the beat.”
They stood there in silence for a moment, the two of them mentally tuning back in with the music, before Meryl started to slowly move back and forth, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Wolfwood followed suit - a fraction of a second behind her. A few minutes passed, and his movements become a little more confident. She nodded to him know she approved.
“And then, if you want, you can start moving a bit in a circle.” Meryl said, applying very slight pressure to Wolfwood’s left hand.
“This is easy.” Wolfwood said with a huff. “Dancing is easier than I thought it was.”
“This isn’t even really a dance, it’s dancing for people who don’t know how to. But it’s a good start. At least you’re doing a good job of telling where the beat is.” Meryl recalled watching from the sidelines at one of the Uni dances, and seeing couples attempting even this struggling, as if they were intentionally fighting against the rhythm.
“Ain’t hard.” He replied. “It’s like a heartbeat.” The song ended and a new one began. This time Meryl let Wolfwood start the little sway, find it more on his own.
At some point they had come closer together, bridging the gap between their bodies. All semblance of a proper form that one would need for an actual dance dissolving. Wolfwood let his head rest on Meryl’s head, and Meryl’s fell against his chest, as if he was shielding her entirely from the world. He hummed absentmindedly to the song, and it vibrated his ribcage in a pleasant way. She breathed in his scent - desert and wood and sweat. The cigarette smoke that clung to him and burned like acid in the back of her throat, but in a way that she had become accustomed to, that she had begun to enjoy just by its’ association with Wolfwood. Wolfwood was so much taller than her, and in order to place her hand on his shoulder she had to be on tip toe. Her feet were beginning to ache, but she would rather let them bleed before she broke up the moment.
As they turned in their slow circle Meryl’s eyes drifted around the room, and felt herself swell in contentment at their own little slice of peace they had carved out for themselves among the dunes. And as she came into the view of the stairs her eyes drifted up and up and up them, and caught a small piece of red fabric sticking out from the landing just behind the wall to the right of the stairs.
“We have a visitor.” Meryl whispered into Wolfwoods chest.
“I’ve noticed.” He said, she felt his chin lift off of her head. That made sense. They were both paralyzed with fear then. Vash was a little unpredictable on good days, much less on a day like today. Calling out to him might bring him down, but it was equally likely to make him dash back to the room, like he was afraid at what they would do to him if they caught him somewhere else. Like he was used to being hurt by someone for being an individual.
The anger that welled at the thought was aged and cold.
So Meryl tries a different approach.
“Do you think anyone ever taught Vash to dance?” She asks Wolfwood at full volume. Wolfwood has a quick mind, he get’s her play quickly.
“I wouldn’t know. You should ask him yourself.” Wolfwood replies. They stop dancing, but they don’t stop holding hands.
“He’s probably asleep, I don’t want to wake him up.”
The triumph that Meryl feels when she hears those ancient stairs squeal under the weight of a body is like nothing else. She looks over to see Vash descending.
His hair is like it usually is these days - half up, half down, like he can’t quite recall how he used to have it. He’s wearing his usually get up, and he’s never without his red coat, but he’s just in socks right now. Vash doesn’t wear shoes if he doesn’t have to. She’s put together enough to know that when he was a kid on the ship he didn’t wear any. She likes it. Meryl likes to imagine that it indicates he considers this place home, or at least as a good location. It also shows he isn’t in a bolting mood. If he’s having bad days and walking around with shoes, well then things are exceptionally bad. They agreed not to use force to keep him here, but it doesn’t make it any less disheartening when he leaves in the middle of the night, and they have to search through the dunes for that signature bright red.
“What’re you up to?” Vash asks innocently, eyes wide and curious. If Meryl didn’t know for a fact that he’s been at the top of the stairs listening to them, she would genuinely believe he had just woken up and decided to come downstairs.
“Learning to dance from best.” Wolfwood gestured to Meryl, who in turn raised her hands to her face and and twirled a little in embarrassment.
“Oh I’m not the best or anything! But I know a thing or two.” Her bashfulness is natural, but it also ends up being the exact right thing to say. Vash finishes going down the stairs and gives her a sincere smile, creasing his eyes at the corner.
“I’m sure you’re good!” Vash encouraged, as he always does. Having Vash around was like having a permanent cheerleader, or golden retriever. He was almost too sincere sometimes, it made Meryl question she was to deserve such attention.
“You think you’re up for learning blondie?” Wolfwood asked. He was trying to be casual, Meryl knew, but it was hard for Wolfwood to take any of the bark out of his voice unless he was talking to a child, and it came out just barely more like an order. Vash flinched. Meryl watched as a myriad of emotions crossed Wolfwoods’ face, and could practically see him begrudgingly put to the side his sarcasm - Wolfwoods first and oldest wall he had built between himself and the world. “I think Meryl would like to teach you too, Vash. And honestly it would be nice to learn with someone else.”
There was a small moment when he looked at the two of them, and Meryl could see the longing in his eyes. Then Vash rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, and his facade came up.
“Oh I bet I have two left feet haha, I wouldn’t want to actually step on your toes.” He flexed his hand nervously before burying it into his jacket, moving his shoulders up and down in a ‘what can you do?’ gesture. Wolfwood looked at Vash’s face, down to his hands hidden in his pockets, and then back to his face.
“Give me a second.” He said, and went over to the the cupboards, and then returned a second later, pushing something into Meryl’s hands. A pair of of gloves - the kind they’ve been keeping around with all the housework they’ve been doing to try and protect their hands from splinters. Wolfwood had already put on a pair of his own, and offered his hand to Vash.
“May I have this dance my good sir?” He asked. Cautiously, slowly, Vash withdrew his hand from the pocket and placed it into Wolfwood’s gloved hands. “You can consider me beginner level - if you prove you aren’t crushing toes you’ll advance to dancing with the master.” He tossed his head to indicate Meryl. “Now, where we?”
“First try swaying back and forth to the beat…”