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Everything hurt, but Roberto had to push through the pain. That crazy plant girl could produce nails? What the fuck . While he was dragging Meryl out of the way after calling up the elevator, Roberto could only hope that his hunch was correct. If Vash and that priest weren’t coming up with the elevator, then it was all in vain. He and Meryl would both die and he couldn’t stand for that. Too many people had called him a coward- Meryl included. If staying out of dangerous situations was cowardly, then yeah, he was one. Look where ignoring that !danger! feeling in your gut got you. Luckily, Meryl hadn’t seemed to notice that they both hadn’t escaped the nail assault unharmed.
DING
The elevator had arrived. Roberto gathered up the strength to grab Meryl like a sack of flour, and throw her in the carriage, when he noticed the priest coming out of the doors guns blazing.
Finally, that idiot is good for something
. While Wolfwood laid down covering fire, Roberto grabbed Meryl and got them both inside the elevator, Vash giving the smaller woman a reassuring smile as she called out desperately to stop him.
Roberto didn’t notice any of this. He was too busy trying to manage the pain in his stomach, the adrenaline from escaping finally wearing off. He looked down with shaky hands and breath. The nail seemed so big, protruding out of his stomach like rebar out of concrete. He groaned, the sound finally reaching Meryl’s ears. She tried desperately to help, but Roberto pushed her hands away. She was so small, so young. Too young, in fact, to go through all this trauma. He had tried to get her to turn back, to get away from the Humanoid Typhoon and that crazy priest. Even before Jeneora Rock, he had asked his supervisors to assign her to a different reporter. She needed a real mentor, someone who would actually help her get on that news desk one day. Not some washed-up, alcoholic tabloid journalist who got his license permanently revoked due to his drinking issues. Meryl deserved better. She was better, better than he could ever hope to achieve. Real journalists put themselves in harm's way, and wasn’t that her dream?
Roberto recalled that first day in the car. He had been trying to set up a boundary, annoy her enough to where she would willingly quit. He laughed painfully, blood coming up to his mouth with the action. His breath wheezed even more. Meryl was crying on her knees before him, trying to get Roberto to just hold on to life a little longer.
Roberto smiled at her efforts. She didn’t know. Before this shitstorm of an assignment, he had gone to the doctors as part of a mandatory check-up. Apparently, the years of drinking and smoking had taken its toll, and he didn’t have too long to live. Maybe a year? Two, if he quit those vices, but Roberto knew going cold turkey would kill him faster than any cig. That’s why he had tried to push her away. She didn’t need to see him waste away from the cancer growing inside. He wanted her to remember him alive – whether that be an annoying, cantankerous, drunk, middle-aged man, or as her mentor (ineffective as he may have been).
More importantly, he wanted to remember her smiling, like she was in that garden on the other ship, surrounded by, what was it called? Flora? Roberto had never seen anything like it, and had to hide his wonder underneath his skepticism at that old lady’s plans to help the planet. He had never seen Meryl so happy, and to see her now? Roberto opened his eyes not without considerable effort. Through his splotchy vision, he saw her sobbing. Damn. Not the way he wanted to go. He summoned up the strength to speak.
At first, he only complained about not having a drink, to try and get Meryl mad at him, so he could see any expression except that heartbreaking sadness present in her eyes. It didn’t work. Roberto could feel the last of his strength waning. There was one last thing he needed to do.
“Take this.” he said, bringing out that Derringer pistol he carried. Meryl looked up in surprise.
“No! I can’t leave you!” she pleaded.
“You listen here.” Roberto rasped, blood thickening in his mouth. “You’re in charge from now on.” She drew back. “Follow your heart.” This was the best advice he could give, and one that he knew she would absolutely follow. Roberto hoped her heart would lead her away from danger, but knew deep down that wasn’t the case.
She denied the gun once again, and he tried to get her to listen. As she shook her head, he knew he had to play his trump card.
“Meryl Stryfe.” He looked her in the eyes and lowered the gun. He had failed in his task of stopping her sadness. “I… was just unlucky….” Roberto trailed off, chest heaving painfully, not finishing his sentence.
I was just unlucky to not see her happy again. He closed his eyes, picturing himself back in the garden, seeing her smile among the flora.
This was a better dream than any he had before.