Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Do you really have to go now? Can’t you stay a few more days?”

Vash paused, his hands hovering over his half-packed bag. Carlito stood in the doorway, fists clenched at his sides, trying hard to look braver than he felt. Until now, the boy hadn’t said much about him leaving Mesa Probe—but the strain in his voice said it all. This was the moment Vash had been waiting for—and dreading. It was time to help him understand that the decision was final.

With a soft smile, Vash crossed the room and ruffled Carlito’s hair before crouching down to meet him at eye level.

“I’m sorry, buddy. I wish I could, but I have to go. The Terran forces are closing in, and I don’t want to bring trouble to you or your dad.”

“But they said your bounty will be dropped! ’Cause they think you’re dead!” Carlito blurted, blinking fast to hold back his tears. “I don’t think they’ll come at all!”

Vash felt a pang in his chest. Carlito wasn’t the type to cry—not over scraped knees or fights with the other kids. But he had a strong sense of family, and somewhere along the way, Vash had stopped being just a visitor. He’d become an older brother of sorts—and of course this was hard on him.

“They’ll come,” Vash said gently. “They’re just bluffing so I’ll let my guard down. Then they’ll move in.”

Carlito scowled, scrubbing at his face with his sleeve. “That’s a stupid plan.”

“Yeah,” Vash chuckled. “It is.”

He stood and returned to his bag, carefully folding the last of his clothes. Carlito lingered near the door, arms now crossed tight across his chest, watching in silence. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, torn. Deep down, he knew the Terran threat wasn’t the only reason Vash was leaving—but he also knew he probably shouldn’t have known this piece of information.

But the question burned inside him.

Sensing there was more on the boy’s mind, Vash turned and gave him an amused, knowing look over his shoulder.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me. I know you’ve got more questions, so shoot.”

Carlito hesitated for a beat, then looked down at his feet.

“I heard you told my dad you made a promise,” he said quietly.

“Ahá. I did,” Vash replied. There was no point in denying it—he knew Carlito had a habit of eavesdropping long past his bedtime. He sat down on the edge of the bed, his gaze drifting toward the night sky visible through the window.

“And I’m trying to keep that promise. Even if it’s hard. Even if it means saying goodbye to good people like you.”

“Is that why you’re really leaving?”

“That’s part of it.”

Carlito was quiet for a moment, then crossed the room and sat beside him, legs dangling.

“Who was it? The person you promised?”

“Someone very dear to me.”

“The person you asked my dad to track down?”

Vash laughed softly and ruffled Carlito’s hair again.

“Hey, you really do have good ears.” He grinned. “Yeah. I’m afraid she’ll hear the rumors that I’m dead and freak out. She 's like that.”

Carlito wrinkled his nose. “So this is all about a girl?” He made a face and let out a dramatic sigh. “That’s so dumb.”

Shaking his head, Vash decided he wasn’t about to argue. Carlito was too young to understand—and honestly, he barely understood it himself. Or maybe he just wasn’t ready to admit it yet.

“Hey, that’s mean!” he replied instead, trying to lighten the mood. “And here I was thinking of coming back to visit once I found her. I’m sure she’d love to meet you and your dad. And see the apple tree too.”

That last part wasn’t exactly something he was looking forward to—not with all the complicated feelings he still carried about Knives. But he knew Meryl, and it was a fact: she’d want to know what happened to his brother.

“I don’t know if I’ll like this person at all—since you’re leaving because of her.” His voice held no real venom, of course. Carlito was too kind for that. It was clear he was just messing with Vash one last time.

“I know you will. I didn’t want to like her at first either... but she found a way.”

“How so?”

“¡Carlito! ¿No te dije que no molestes a Vash?”

Thankfully, Vash didn’t need to elaborate further—Dr. Bond appeared in the doorway, arms crossed and eyebrows raised in that I’m not mad, just disappointed kind of way.

“I wasn’t bothering him! We were just talking!” the boy groaned.

“Yeah, right.” The man gave his son another look, then turned his attention to Vash. “Sorry about that. I know you’re busy getting ready.”

“It’s fine,” Vash said, standing. “We were having a good conversation.”

Dr. Bond nodded—unconvinced—and pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket, handing it over.

“Anyway, the friend I mentioned got back to me.” His expression turned more serious. “As we expected, she’s in November City. I don’t know if she’s sharing an apartment with that other friend of yours, but my contact says she’s definitely staying in this building.”

Vash’s heart gave a small but unmistakable jolt at his friend’s words. Most people who hadn’t been born in Octovern had already left to help repopulate what remained of the surviving cities, so it wasn’t surprising that Meryl and Milly had returned to November.

Still, tracking them down had proven more difficult than expected—especially with Bernardelli gone. They were likely lying low to avoid attention from the Terran forces. After all, the authorities knew about their connection to him and could easily assume they knew his whereabouts.

He stared at the paper for a moment longer, the name on it both familiar and strange after so much time…

“Me-ryl S-try-fe,” Carlito read aloud, suddenly peering over Vash’s shoulder and sounding out the name with exaggerated care. “That’s the name of your girlfriend?”

“¡Oye tú, chismoso!” the doctor scolded, shooting him a look. “¿Qué te he dicho sobre andar husmeando? Go to sleep now.”

Carlito gave him a guilty glance and started walking toward the doorway. Before leaving, he turned back to look at Vash, as if afraid he might sneak out in the middle of the night without saying goodbye.

“Don’t worry. This one won’t leave until tomorrow morning,” Dr. Bond assured him. “I need to talk to him though, so can you please get moving?” Then, raising his voice slightly, he added: “And don’t think I don’t know you like to stay behind listening. You better not let me catch you in the hallway.”

“Okay, okay,” Carlito huffed as he walked away. “Goodnight, Vash. Goodnight, Dad.”

“So,” he said. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“Absolutely. You discharged me yourself—I’m good as new, see?” Vash lifted his arms as if to prove a point, flexing slightly with a crooked smile. But Dr. Bond didn’t smile back.

“You know I’m not talking about that.”

Of course he wasn’t. He was talking about Knives. 

They had shared the same space for almost six months after their final battle. And even though Knives had seemed to have a change of heart toward the end, they’d barely had time to mend anything. Vash had spent the first stretch unconscious, drifting in and out of a coma. And by the time he woke up, his brother kept his distance, offering only brief, stiff conversations—nothing close to real closure- to only retreat himself to the church’s library as soon as he could. 

To Vash’s surprise, it was Carlito and his father that Knives had opened up to more. The apple tree was proof of that. So was the way he vanished without even saying goodbye.

If Nai had truly changed, Vash hadn’t really gotten to see it. And that gap—the unfinishedness of it all—was making the grieving process harder for him.

He let out a quiet sigh. Bond already knew all of it, so there was no use in repeating how much he was still struggling—how it had been affecting his sleep, his appetite, everything.

“That’s part of why I’m leaving too,” he said at last, glancing up at his friend. “I need to keep moving. I keep thinking if I stay here too long... I’ll freeze for good.”

Bond exhaled through his nose and gave a slow nod.

“Fair enough. I just needed to be sure, that’s all. We’ll miss you, though. Carlito especially. He didn’t take Nai’s departure well.”

“Yeah,” Vash murmured. “I feel terrible. Me leaving isn’t going to help much either…”

“I’m not saying it to make you stay,” Bond replied. “Just reminding you that we care. And that we’re hoping you’ll come back someday.” He looked away briefly. “Once you’ve done whatever it is you need to do... you know where to find us.”

Something in his gruff demeanor reminded Vash of Wolfwood—the way kindness lived underneath all that sharpness. He could’ve said more, reached for one of those impossible words he never quite knew how to say.

But instead, he simply nodded.

“I will.”

With that settled, they let the heavier things rest, drifting into more mundane conversation—supplies, transport schedules, whether or not Carlito would finally water the apple tree without being reminded. Vash kept folding his things as they talked, quietly taking in the room, the stillness, the life they had shared these last few months.

He would miss this place.

But he knew he had to leave. For them. For himself.

And for that someone he had promised he’d come back to.

Goodbyes had never been difficult for Vash. He’d made a habit of slipping away quietly, moving on before anyone could get too attached—or before he did. But this one had been different. Saying farewell to Carlito and Dr. Bond had left a weight in his chest he couldn’t quite shake.

He really had grown soft. Lost his touch, maybe. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

Luckily, being on the road helped distract him. He’d been worried at first that he’d be recognized the moment he reached the next town, but to his surprise, that hadn’t been the case at all.

Since he’d decided against donning his signature duster and opted for a more civilian look, no one seemed to connect the dots—even though he still wore his familiar yellow-tinted glasses, and his height was impossible to hide. From what he’d overheard on one of the many buses he’d taken over the past few days, most people still carried a vivid mental image of him as the Humanoid Typhoon: red coat, blonde spiky hair, mechanical arm exposed, gun always ready.

The fact that the Terrans hadn’t updated his wanted posters didn’t hurt either.

Now his hair had turned entirely black, and by all accounts, he looked like any other man his age. No one gave him a second glance. Even so, he had only passed through small towns so far. With November ahead—and its stronger Terran presence—he wasn’t sure his luck would hold.

While on the road, he’d watched as the outskirts of the city came into view. It was clear they'd been busy these last few months: building plant domes, laying down irrigation lines that snaked out into the sand. Patches of green were no longer just a myth from before the Big Fall—they were beginning to take root, reclaiming the land.

The Terrans were doing their part, trying to make Gunsmoke more livable for the people who had endured so much.

But Vash knew that grace wouldn’t extend to him. Hence the rumors of his death.

They hadn’t stopped hunting him—wanted to lure him out, wherever he was hiding. And Vash had little doubt that Chronica was behind it, still seething over being denied her revenge.

Was this even a good idea? he wondered as the bus hissed to a stop and the driver called for everyone to disembark.

All the changes he’d seen on his way back here felt amplified threefold.

The streets were buzzing with life despite being late in the evening—a mix of locals and Terran personnel weaving through a web of repurposed walkways and scaffolded towers. Vash felt dizzy for a second.

Maybe it was the reconstruction—new rules, new people. Or maybe it was just him, still half-disoriented from the long recovery, from the months of drifting in and out of consciousness while the world kept spinning without him.

Maybe he should’ve thought this through a little better…

“Well, too late for that,” he muttered under his breath, stepping off into the city.

He kept his head down and moved with the crowd, stopping now and then to ask for directions to the address Bond had given him. After a while—and after adjusting to the noise and movement—he thought, so far, so good.

With so many new faces coming and going in November, no one seemed to think twice about a stranger like him.

Eventually, he ducked into a small café tucked between a repair shop and what used to be a records office. The air held a warm, spiced scent, though his stomach wasn’t exactly eager. It felt good to sit down and rest, if only for a moment.

It didn’t take long until a young waitress approached with a friendly smile. “What can I get you?”

“Uh, just tea for now,” he said, offering a small nod. “Actually… could you help me with something?”

He pulled out the folded note from his pocket, sliding it carefully across the table. “Do you know this address?”

She squinted at the paper for a second, then lit up.

“Oh, I know that place!” she said, wiping her hands on her apron. “It’s just a few blocks down this street. One of the few buildings that didn’t take much damage during the war.”

A flicker stirred in his chest—relief, maybe—at the thought that he was finally close.

He just hoped Meryl was still there by the time he arrived.

Other than fulfilling his promise to her, he wasn’t expecting much. He wasn’t naïve enough to believe that seeing her would magically fix everything weighing him down—or that it would clear up the confusion swirling in his chest every time he thought of her.

If anything, it would probably just make things messier.

But right now, if he was honest with himself…

He needed a friendly face.

Especially hers.

He didn’t even know what he’d say when he saw her. Maybe that was one of the reasons he was nervous.

Before he could think further, a sudden commotion broke out near the counter. Two men had begun arguing—loudly—about the bill. Voices rising, shoulders squared. One shoved the other, and a chair scraped sharply against the floor.

A version of himself—an older one, or maybe a more reckless one—would’ve stepped in without hesitation. But now? He was trying to stay invisible. And besides, no weapons had been drawn, just fists and pride. It looked like it would burn out fast.

Then the door swung open with a sharp movement.

Two Terran soldiers stepped into the café, scanning the room with sharp, practiced eyes. One of them already had a hand near his sidearm.

The waitress leaned in a little as she set down Vash’s tea.

“They’ve been showing up everywhere lately,” she muttered, more annoyed than worried. “Keeping everyone on a pretty short leash these days.”

Vash didn’t say anything. He lowered his gaze in silence and kept his hands wrapped around the warm mug, telling himself not to intervene. The Terran forces would handle it. That’s what they were here for, right? To keep order.

Don’t get involved.

Don’t draw attention.

“Hey! Don’t treat our customers like that!”

The waitress’s voice cut through the noise. A loud thud followed, sharp and ugly.

Vash flinched and looked up.

One of the soldiers had shoved one of the men hard against the wall.

Too hard.

The man yelped, his shoulder hitting the plaster with a sickening crack.

Damn it.

For all their talk of peacekeeping, some of these Terrans still acted like the same power-drunk enforcers Gunsmoke had always known—just with better gear.

Vash stood before he could stop himself.

“Hey,” he said, walking toward the commotion. “No need to get that brash. It’s just a small argument.”

The room quieted.

The second soldier turned to look at him, then the first. Both stared a second too long. One of them tilted his head, squinting.

And that was when Vash felt it—that flicker. That second of hesitation.

Not recognition. Not completely.

But close enough.

Enough to make him look suspicious.

Shit.

The taller of the two stepped forward, his voice suddenly more formal.

“I’m gonna need to see your ID.”

“Excuse me?”

“Standard verification,” the soldier said, but his hand drifted back toward his belt—toward his device, not his weapon. He scanned Vash slowly. The screen in his hand gave a strange flicker.

“What the hell…” he muttered.

The other soldier stepped in. “Hold on. We’ve got a weird reading here.”

Vash didn’t move. He could feel the eyes on him now—not just the soldiers’. The waitress had gone still, the other patrons frozen mid-bite or breath.

His fingers curled slightly at his sides. He could walk away. Could lie. Could—

“He didn’t do anything!” someone said.

A different voice followed. “You said it was a standard check, not an interrogation.”

Even one of the guys who had been fighting moments earlier muttered, “Dude, we were just arguing. You’re the ones making it a scene.”

The tension in the air didn’t break, but it shifted. The locals were watching now—not afraid, but annoyed.

“Terrans are always sticking their noses where they don’t belong,” someone else added.

“Why don’t you leave the guy alone?”

The soldier with the scanner frowned. He looked from the screen to Vash, and then back again.

Before he could speak, the waitress quietly stepped in.

She tapped Vash’s shoulder and gave him a subtle nod.

“This way,” she murmured. “Come on.”

He followed her toward the back without arguing as the people kept arguing.

Once they were past the kitchen curtain and out of sight, he finally asked, “Thank you for that but Why are you helping me?”

“Because locals have to look out for each other,” she said with a smile. “Especially with people like them around.”

While Vash was grateful for the help—and even moved to see how people seemed more willing to stand up for one another these days—something about the way she’d said “them” , as if Terrans weren’t part of the same humanity, left a bad feeling in his gut.

That kind of division never led anywhere good. He’d seen it too many times before.

But that was a thought for another time.

Right now, he had a different task: find Meryl’s apartment and get it over with.

Just say hi. Let her know he was alive. Fulfil his promise and then leave.

Simple.

Right?

The building wasn’t hard to find. It stood just a few blocks away, exactly where the waitress had said. Not particularly remarkable—five floors of aging concrete with sun-faded paint, narrow windows, and a fire escape that clung to the side like an afterthought. The kind of place that had survived simply because it was too stubborn to collapse.

Vash scanned the street before approaching. It wasn’t particularly busy, but for some reason, Terran patrols were heavier on this side of the district. If he tried to hide, it would only make him look more suspicious—so he decided the best move was to keep his head down and blend in as best he could.

As he walked to cross the street, two Terran soldiers stepped forward to do the same. They didn’t seem to notice him. Maybe the report from the café hadn’t reached them yet.

Vash swallowed, waiting for a truck to pass before stepping off the curb.

Almost there.

But then—

A look.

One of the Terrans glanced his way—too long, too focused.

He didn’t wait.

His body moved before his brain caught up. He started to run—fast.

He passed the front of the building without stopping, keeping a steady pace, heart pounding in his ears. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the soldiers react—voices raised, boots hitting pavement.

They were following.

Good.

Vash kept moving, eyes scanning, calculating. He rounded the next corner, slipping through a tight gap between two delivery trucks, using the crowded layout to break their line of sight.

Then—a sharp pivot.

He doubled back, circling behind the building. The alley between Meryl’s place and the one next to it opened up in front of him. Without missing a beat, he darted into the narrow space and jumped for the rusted fire escape ladder, yanking it down with a metallic screech before scrambling up two rungs at a time.

His fingers caught the metal. He yanked the ladder down with a screech and scrambled up two rungs at a time.

He prayed he was fast enough—that they hadn’t seen exactly where he’d gone. And it seemed he had been; no one had doubled back to check if he was hiding nearby.

Relief hit him like cold water, but he didn’t stop climbing. It was only a matter of time before they noticed he wasn’t still running in the direction they expected.

So much for blending in , he thought grimly. Meryl better be home for this.

He moved along the landing, checking windows one by one. Most were shut tight—some even barred. He peered inside a few, just long enough to confirm they were occupied. No good. He couldn’t afford to startle a resident or get himself arrested for breaking and entering.

Just one open window. That’s all he needed.

He turned the corner, heading toward the last stretch of the fire escape. And there—finally—he found it.

A small kitchen window, cracked open just enough to slip through.

Vash blinked. Seriously? Who leaves their window open these days?

Reckless.

But he wasn’t going to complain.

He pulled himself closer, bracing one foot on the railing, and eased the window further open. Inside, the place looked quiet. Clean. No lights on, no movement.

He swung one leg in, then the other, and landed silently on the kitchen tiles.

He exhaled slowly, adjusting to the hush of the apartment. He didn’t know if this was the place yet—but at least it was a place. Somewhere to regroup. Lay low. Figure out the next move.

He stepped out of the kitchen and into the living room. The apartment was small—probably hadn’t seen renovations in decades—but it was clean, organized… cozy, even. Whoever lived here clearly took good care of it.

Vash froze mid-step, eyes sweeping the space with sharper focus. Something about it felt… familiar. Not in any obvious way—more like a vague impression, a feeling tugging at the back of his mind.

Impossible , he thought. That would be too much of a coincidence.

He kept moving, almost to prove himself wrong. No way his luck was that good.

A few more steps brought him to the small table by the wall—stacked with papers, a well-worn comm unit, and—

A map.

A Gunsmoke map, spread open and pinned in place. Covered in notes, scribbles, coordinates, tiny arrows in black ink. His eyes traced the markings until one detail stopped him cold.

A red circle.

Right around Mesa Probe.

His heart jumped.

This—this was her place. He didn’t need confirmation anymore. The way the notes were arranged, the precision, the stubbornness in every line... it all screamed Meryl Stryfe .

She’d been looking. For him.

And just as the realization settled in—the front door clicked.

Vash’s whole body tensed.

He panicked, for no real reason. He could just stand there. Say hi. Like a normal person.

Well—if a normal person had broken into her apartment while she was out.

But no.

Of course not.

Instead, he dove— actually dove —behind the couch. Because apparently, facing armed soldiers and bounty hunters was one thing. Facing her after all this time? That was a completely different kind of problem.

Would she be mad? Happy? Nah. Probably she’d be more pissed about him hiding behind her furniture and turning this into something far more awkward than it needed to be.

He heard her pass by the couch and move into the kitchen. A small mirror on the far wall gave him a glimpse. She was carrying a few shopping bags, muttering under her breath.

She looked just like he remembered her. Maybe her hair was a little longer now, brushing the back of her neck. And she wasn’t wearing her usual white attire—instead, she had on a simple shirt and jeans.

There she was. Meryl.

And the world felt a little brighter. Because she was still here.

He couldn’t stop looking at her. Just existing, just moving around the apartment like it was any other day.

So much had changed in his life over the last few years, but she hadn’t. Not really. And seeing her like this—real and alive and so normal—made him feel, for a moment, like maybe everything could be okay.

He blinked.

And then—she wasn’t there anymore.

Where did she—

Click.

Vash froze.

From behind the couch came the cold click of a gun.

“What do you think you’re doing here, you creep?! Show yourself!” she shouted.

Ah.
There it was.

Vash let out the faintest sigh, hands already raised as he slowly, carefully crawled out from behind the couch.

No use dragging this out any longer.

“Long time no see, Meryl…,” he said, voice calm—almost sheepish.

She was standing just a few feet away, feet braced, one arm extended—her derringer aimed squarely at his face.

She didn’t move.

Not at first.

Then—after what felt like the longest second of their lives—her hand began to lower, only a little. Her mouth parted, eyes wide.

“…Vash?” she whispered, like she didn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

Chapter Text

Meryl lowered her gun, her arm trembling slightly as a storm of emotions surged through her chest—shock, anger, disbelief—none of them quite enough to contain everything she was feeling.

Was this some kind of joke?

Just that morning, she'd started to accept that the rumors might actually be true. She'd sat at her kitchen table, tea growing cold, wondering what she'd do with her life if Vash really was gone.

Yet here he was now, crouched awkwardly behind her stupid couch.

Her heart pounded in her ears. She'd imagined this reunion countless times over the last six months—what she'd say, what she'd do. Maybe she'd hug him. Maybe she'd slap him. She hadn't counted on wanting to do both.

“Vash…” she whispered, before a heavy knock rattled the door.

Her blood ran cold.

She knew that knock too well by now. She knew exactly what the people behind it wanted.

“I’m coming!” she called sharply, then turned urgently to Vash. “Hide.”

“What?”

“Kitchen. Now.”

For once, he didn’t argue. With a bewildered glance, he slipped silently around the corner, out of sight as the knock sounded again, louder.

“Miss Stryfe,” an official voice called through the door, “Terran Corps. We need a word.”

Meryl steadied herself with a deep breath. By now, she had her routine—calm exterior, sharp tongue, no panic. It was the only way to handle these visits.

She adjusted her expression into her best impatient scowl and opened the door.

Two officers stood in the hallway, fully armed, visors down, sidearms visible. Their stance was rigid but not openly hostile—not yet, at least.

Leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, she greeted them dryly. “Second visit this week. Anything exciting going on?”

“Apologies for the inconvenience, Miss Stryfe,” the younger officer began. “We received reports of suspicious activity near your property—”

“Oh, come on,” she interrupted, rolling her eyes even as her palms began to sweat. “You can't knock every time there's a weird noise nearby. It's ridiculous. I seriously doubt the Humanoid Typhoon would be dumb enough to come here. Didn’t you report he was dead? Why so jumpy—unless that was just a bluff?”

The soldiers exchanged an uneasy glance.

Perfect.

Meryl maintained her bored stance. If she made this awkward enough, maybe they'd hesitate to come back. Especially now, with Vash actually here—she needed all the space she could get.

They lingered a bit longer, tossing out vague warnings as if hoping she'd slip up. But finally, without another word, they turned and started down the stairs.

She waited until their footsteps faded entirely before closing the door slowly, leaning forward to rest her forehead against the cool metal. Chest tight, eyes shut, she exhaled shakily.

That had been far too close.

“Are you okay?”

His voice pulled her back.

Turning slowly, she found Vash standing uncertainly in the center of the living room, brows knitted with concern. His shirt was wrinkled and dusty, black hair tousled from whatever journey had brought him back. He looked exhausted—but he was here. Just as he’d promised.

All her imagined reunions vanished instantly. Terror, relief, gratitude—every feeling she’d bottled up for six months crashed together at once, too big to sort or name. Instinct took over. Two strides carried her across the room; she looped her arms around his neck and pulled him in, pressing her face to the warm curve of his shoulder, inhaling just to prove he was solid and alive.

“You idiot,” she muttered softly against his cheek. “Do you have any idea how worried I was?”

Vash froze momentarily, hands hovering uncertainly at her sides. But as she tightened her hold, whatever hesitation he felt disappeared, and his arms wrapped firmly around her waist, drawing her in gently but completely.

They'd hugged before. It was normal, she told herself—just relief, just comfort. But the flutter in her chest felt different now.

“Hey,” he said softly. “I told you I’d come back. Did you really think I wouldn’t?”

“For a second,” she admitted, voice muffled against him, “I almost did.”

She pulled back enough to meet his gaze, her own slightly misty. “You don’t know how much has happened since you left.”

Vash tilted his head, offering a gentle smile. “Well, it's not like I have anywhere else to be. So why don’t you catch me up?”

Hours later, the apartment had grown quiet again.

Standing by the kitchen counter, Meryl watched Vash sleep. He’d barely managed to stay awake through their earlier conversation—nodding occasionally, asking a few questions—but exhaustion had quickly claimed him. She’d noticed his eyes drooping mid-sentence, blinking slowly as he tried to stay focused, determined not to miss anything she said.

The battle must have taken its toll; that much was clear. Yet Meryl couldn’t shake the feeling it wasn’t only that. He’d been careful when she mentioned Knives—not closed off exactly, but cautious. Guarded. It left her wondering if anything between the brothers had truly been resolved.

She lingered a moment longer, then sighed softly and moved from the kitchen.

On the couch, Vash was sprawled out—one arm tucked behind his head, the other draped loosely over his stomach, his mouth slightly open as he slept soundly.

Typical.

Shaking her head with a faint smile, she quietly walked to the desk in the corner. Her usual setup was waiting—the comm unit, notebooks, a half-empty cup of tea now cold and forgotten.

Instead of reaching for the headset, she paused. Radio transmissions were too risky with Terrans swarming the city. She needed something safer. Luida had mentioned a secure text relay feature in her last letter, a low-level encryption she hadn’t even known the device could handle.

But if Luida said it worked, that was enough.

Meryl powered on the comm unit. The small monitor hummed softly to life, lines of green code flickering briefly before pausing:

READY FOR INPUT

She typed swiftly on the small keypad: V is back. Plan still on. MP trip cancelled.

Her finger hovered for a moment before pressing SEND.

It wasn’t much, but anyone with Vash’s best interests in mind would understand—Livio, the crew from Ship 3, Milly (if she remembered to check messages), and especially Mr. Vance, who had provided the machine in the first place.

Vash didn’t yet know how she’d managed to gain allies among the Earth forces. That story could wait until morning. For now, it was enough knowing he was safe and resting nearby.

He knew the essentials—that he’d been searched for, that Terrans had kept close watch, that Milly had visited family after the war, and that Chronica, along with certain Earth factions, was becoming increasingly restless.

“Are you aware, Miss Stryfe, that your planet cannot handle another rogue Independent?”

Chronica’s voice echoed in her mind. Precise. Clipped. Unnervingly calm.

The memory made her tense even now.

After Vash had vanished with Knives, Earth authorities had swarmed what was left of Octovern. They questioned anyone with even a loose connection to him—and like many others, Meryl had volunteered to speak. No one had forced her. She’d walked into that room willingly.

But it hadn’t felt like a conversation. It had felt like a trial.

And she hadn’t expected her to be there.

It had been Meryl’s first encounter with another Independent besides Vash, and the difference was stark. Chronica was nothing like him—composed, calculating, businesslike. Every word she spoke seemed rehearsed, each syllable meticulously measured.

Meryl had spoken honestly, clearly, with absolute certainty: Vash was no threat. If he’d left with Knives, it was to stop him, not aid him. He’d suffered, nearly died multiple times, always protecting people—strangers, innocents, even those who didn’t deserve mercy.

“He would never do what Knives did,” she’d insisted. “I’ve seen him get hurt, bleed, collapse—because he chose to protect people he didn’t even know. Because he wanted everyone to live. That’s who he is.”

Chronica had only studied her with cold eyes.

“And if Knives is still alive,” Meryl continued defiantly, “I know Vash will keep him in check. He’s changed countless hearts. His brother won’t be an exception.”

That was the only moment when the Independent’s polished facade cracked. A snort—half-snicker, half-dismissal—escaped her, like Meryl had said something painfully naïve.

“You seem very confident in how our kind thinks,” she remarked flatly. “But it’s more complicated than you imagine. How can you be so certain?”

Meryl’s hands clenched involuntarily, her pulse drumming loudly in her temples.

“Because I know him,” she snapped. “Because I’ve seen him in action. I believe in him.”

She poured everything she had into those words—every memory, every scar she’d watched him carry.

But Chronica didn’t even blink.

She didn’t argue—she didn’t need to. The warning that followed said enough: both Vash and Knives were now Earth’s concern. Helping either of them would be considered complicity. Earth might not have legal authority to detain her—not yet, thanks to colonial sovereignty—but that wouldn’t stop them from watching. She’d be wise to tread carefully.

If Mr. Vance hadn’t stepped in then, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder and quietly escorting her out, she might have said something she’d regret—or worse. At the time, she’d thought it was simple kindness.

Looking back, she understood. He wasn’t just protecting her from Chronica. He was trying to tell her there was another way. And he did.

Now, as she made her way toward her room, she glanced again at Vash. Sleep had smoothed the tension from his features. He looked peaceful. Seeing him this way filled her with relief.

Why had she defended him so fiercely back then—and why did the same fire burn in her chest whenever others misunderstood him?

Of course, they shared common values—justice, compassion, stubborn optimism. They argued, laughed, and bonded naturally. But it ran deeper. Something inside her was always drawn toward him—not from obligation or mere admiration, but an instinctive urge to shield him when the world became too harsh.

Was it love? Yes, undoubtedly.

But which kind? Romantic love would neatly explain the ache in her chest, her quickened heartbeat whenever he held her close.

She wasn’t ready to define it. Not yet. Not when everything felt so fragile, when humanity still needed him.

Having him back might clarify her feelings or complicate them further.

But tonight, it didn’t matter. Tonight, all that counted was that he was alive.

Vash woke up at sunrise.

He felt awful for falling asleep when there was still so much left to hear from Meryl—but the truth was, exhaustion had caught up with him. Not sleeping properly for weeks had finally taken its toll, especially now that he’d found a place where he could truly relax.

Mesa Probe had been kind to him—peaceful, even—but the memory of Knives lingered there, pressing into every corner. It was difficult to rest under that shadow.

Quietly slipping off the couch, he padded into the kitchen, grabbed a glass of water, and moved with careful steps. A quick glance toward Meryl’s room showed her door still closed; she was likely still asleep.

He thought about doing something nice for her for a change—like making breakfast. It was the least he could do, given he wasn’t going to be leaving her apartment anytime soon.

Not until he figured out his next steps.

The Terran presence was worse than he’d anticipated. Exploring November was off the table for now.

He’d just set the coffee pot on the stove when the soft click of a door opening drew his attention.

Meryl emerged, rubbing sleep from her eyes, hair tousled, still in pajamas. She blinked at him—processing—then let a small, lopsided grin slip through.

“Morning,” she managed around a yawn.

“Morning,” he echoed, mirroring the grin. “Thanks for letting me crash.”

“Not like you had many options.”

He chuckled softly. “Still. I appreciate it.”

Turning back to the stove, he adjusted the flame under the pan. “I figured you’d wake up soon, so breakfast is already underway.”

“Thanks,” she said, approaching the table and sitting down. “My shift doesn’t start till noon, but I still like getting up early.”

As he cracked an egg into the pan, he glanced over his shoulder. “Last night I didn’t get a chance to ask—what’ve you and Milly been up to? Bernardelli didn’t reopen, right?”

Meryl’s expression faltered slightly, her fingers tapping nervously against the table as she considered her reply.

“Well,” she began slowly, “before Milly left last month, she was helping with some construction projects. Right now, I’m waitressing at a local restaurant. It’s temporary, though.”

Vash turned fully, eyes meeting hers through the steam rising from the coffee pot. There was a nervous twitch in her fingers, but also a familiar spark of mischief in her eyes—the kind that always signaled she was about to drop something unexpected.

“Alright, now you’ve got my attention.”

Vash poured the coffee, plated the omelette, and set everything on the table, sliding into the seat across from her. Meryl wrapped her hands around her mug as if seeking courage from its warmth.

“Okay,” she began, not quite meeting his eyes, “Milly and I are… reporters now. We’ve been hired to follow you around and broadcast what you’re doing.”

Vash’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “Wait—what?” His expression twisted into startled confusion, like someone had just told him the moon was made of pudding. “Follow me? Broadcast? How—why—who even—?”

She laughed softly. “Yeah, I figured you’d react like that.”

Vash gestured vaguely at the kitchen, the window, the world. “You’re telling me I fall off the map for six months and come back to being… a news segment?”

“Not exactly a segment,” she quickly clarified. “And definitely not some exploitative stunt. I wouldn’t do that to you.” Her gaze locked onto his, earnest and unwavering.

“You remember what I told you last night? About the tensions between locals and Terrans? It’s mostly murmurs and protests right now, but you know Earth’s history better than anyone. It escalates quickly and rarely ends well without intervention.”

He nodded slowly, though his brow remained furrowed. “I get that. I just don’t see where I come in.”

She took a deep breath. “After you disappeared, Mr. Vance—the Terran who brought Milly and me to you during the Octovern battle—pulled me aside. What happened here scared Earth deeply. It’s the first SEEDs colony to go off-script to this extent. They nearly lost control completely. Now they’re desperate for oversight and structure.”

Gauging his reaction, she continued. “Their intentions might be good, but they’re suffocating. Gunsmoke’s survived on its own for over a century. Now Earth is acting like we're incapable of managing ourselves.”

Meryl leaned in slightly. “Putting a bounty on your head and chasing you like a criminal is just further proof of how little they understand. You’re a hero here, Vash. To treat you otherwise is insulting.”

Vash’s expression softened as realization dawned. “So you want me in the open as a deterrent? To keep both sides in check?”

“Exactly,” she said, nodding decisively. “If you’re visible—especially with cameras—the Terrans will have to play nice. And it reassures everyone here that you’re safe, alive, and not under threat from Earth.”

“You planned all this yourself?”

“Not entirely,” she admitted, looking down. “Mr. Vance pushed me to see the bigger picture, but once I understood what it could mean, I began rallying everyone who cares about you. They all wanted to help; they just needed some direction. So I pitched the plan to Roberto—a reporter from NMLB who’d been chasing an interview with you—and he signed on right away. Believe me, I haven’t exactly been sitting idle while you were gone.”

With her characteristic conviction, she began to present her case. Her words weren’t dramatic or defensive—instead, they carefully traced every possibility, every reason why this plan made sense and could actually help.

Vash listened, caught off guard at first—and then stilled, awe blooming in his heart. Meryl wasn’t trying to impress him. She wasn’t looking for approval. She spoke with a calm certainty born from long thought and honest conviction. This wasn’t about ambition or visibility. It was about finding the best path forward—the least harm, the most peace—using whatever tools she had within reach.

He thought of all the times she’d admitted to feeling powerless in the middle of everything that surrounded him. Too small for the chaos, too human for the weight. But now? Now she wasn’t on the sidelines. Messaging, strategy, leverage—this was her battleground.

And watching her speak like this, so sure and so focused, he realized: this was what it looked like when Meryl Stryfe fought her own way.

It wasn’t loud or flashy, but damn—there was something glorious about it.

He couldn’t look away.

A brief silence followed, broken only by the quiet clink of cutlery.

“You’re amazing,” Vash said suddenly, sincerity clear in his voice.

She blinked, startled. “What?”

He smiled shyly. “Honestly, I wouldn’t have minded any excuse for you to follow me. But knowing you put so much thought into it… that’s incredible.”

Meryl’s cheeks flushed slightly, and she ducked her head. “I don’t even like cameras. They’re so invasive. But it’s a start—I want people to see the real you. Maybe someday, when things calm down, you can have the quiet life you deserve.” She hesitated briefly, then added quietly, “And maybe I also did it to stay beside you.”

Caught off guard, Vash felt his heartbeat quicken. Without thinking, he gently took her hand.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “For sticking your neck out. For believing in me.” He paused, adding warmly, “And, for what it’s worth… I’d really like it if you stayed.”

Their smiles grew slowly—tentative but genuine. An easy understanding settled between them. Eventually, they drew apart, easing back into casual conversation—discussing logistics, upcoming broadcasts, and initial destinations.

When breakfast was finished, Meryl stood to clear the dishes.

“I have to get ready for my shift soon,” she said, glancing back. “Use whatever you need while you’re here. Sorry it’s not more exciting.”

“I’ve had worse hideouts. At least you fed me.”

“And three meals, plus chores. You’re a guest, but you still have hands.”

As she headed down the hallway, she paused by her door and turned back briefly.

“I’m sorry you have to step up for us again.”

Vash met her gaze steadily. “Don’t be. I’d do it either way—you know that.”

She lingered a moment longer before nodding and disappearing into her room.

Inside, Meryl sat on the edge of the bed, replaying their conversation. It had gone better than expected. Still, guilt flickered inside her; asking Vash to lead again felt unfair, given his burdens. But she’d learned by now he needed to open up on his own terms.

At least this time, they weren’t running. The crisis was there, simmering but not yet boiling over. It gave them room to breathe, to sort things out.

Whatever came next, she’d stay by his side—and try to shoulder some of the weight he always carried alone.

Chapter Text

With the desert chill settling in and the suns dipping low, Meryl waited patiently for the bus to appear.

Usually, it took longer than expected—reconstruction had worsened November’s already notorious traffic—but today, she didn't mind. She’d left early enough to feel at ease and had the best distraction she could’ve hoped for: Milly’s letter.

Her best friend’s handwriting was still as vibrant as ever, large and looping in bright blue ink across the paper. Meryl wasn’t exactly alone anymore, not with Vash back in her life, but she still missed Milly deeply. Receiving the letter had felt like an unexpected gift.

Dear Senpai,

I’m almost done helping my family rebuild the farm. Mom, Dad, my brothers, sisters, nieces and nephews are finally getting back on their feet, so I’m relieved. I’ll be heading back your way soon—probably in a few days.

Oh! And I’m glad to hear that our cat came back. What a rascal! I know you were worried, but I guess now you can finally breathe knowing he’s alive and well. I hope he’s behaving, though!

Meryl smiled faintly at the mention of their "cat." As far as they knew, none of their mail had been intercepted—but caution was always necessary. Before Milly left, they’d agreed on referring to Vash in code, just in case.

Also, I heard back from Livio! He’s doing well—still running the orphanage. He said he has a gift for us. Something he says might come in handy. Isn’t that wonderful?

A gust of wind stirred up dust as the bus finally rumbled toward her. Meryl carefully folded the letter and slipped it back into her coat pocket, fingertips lingering briefly over the paper.

Milly’s last note intrigued her. It likely related to their upcoming broadcast, scheduled to launch in a two weeks. Livio had been briefed on it, and if Milly had kept the details vague, it was probably deliberate. They were careful not to put sensitive information explicitly in writing.

Despite her curiosity, Meryl refused to worry unnecessarily. She trusted her friends deeply. And, she had to admit, she’d been oddly relaxed ever since Vash had reappeared four days ago.

He’d turned out to be an exemplary roommate—washing dishes, sweeping floors, waiting for her after shifts without complaint. He hadn’t once grumbled about staying indoors.

On her end, she’d caught herself smiling more in the past few days than she had in the last six months. Some of that was the relief of knowing he was alive and safe. But mostly, it was just because of him. She genuinely enjoyed his company.

It was strange, in a way. Not just how easy it had been to fall into a rhythm with him—but how peaceful it felt. Like they were playing house in some alternate timeline where things had turned out better. Where she’d learned more about him in four days than she had in all the years they’d known each other.

For example, she had no idea that Vash liked to cook. Or that he listened to classical music when he unwound—and especially, that he liked doing both at the same time.

“So,” she’d said last night, leaning against the counter while he stirred something over the stove, “you’ve really taken a liking to making me dinner. I could get used to it.”

He’d grinned and reached over to turn down the radio, where a soft piano piece was playing. “I’ve got to pull my weight. And since I hate doing dishes, I figured this was the tradeoff.”

The conversation hadn’t drifted far from there. He went on to explain how he’d picked up his cooking skills over time, how he used to help out in restaurants whenever he needed money—and wasn’t in the mood to take on jobs that ended in gunfire.

Then, as she laid out the plates, he added, almost absently, “Also, Rem used to cook for us and made us watch. She didn’t have to—everything was automated on the ship—but she wanted us to build up all sorts of skills…”

That’s when it happened. His hands stilled, eyes dropping to the pan like he’d suddenly forgotten what he was doing. Because us didn’t mean him and her. It meant him and Knives.

Luckily, Vash managed to regain his composure almost immediately, and the moment—while awkward—didn’t linger. They ended up enjoying a nice dinner.

Those subtle cracks in his cheerful façade hadn't escaped her notice, though. He ate very little, tossed restlessly through the night, and his voice occasionally drifted away mid-sentence, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.

And maybe that’s why she felt so conflicted about enjoying this fragile, borrowed peace. Because he wasn’t fine. Not really.

By the time the bus rattled to a stop near the edge of the market district, the suns were nearly gone, and the wind had picked up enough to tug at Meryl’s jacket. She crossed the dusty street and ducked under the faded awning of La Mansion —a name that sounded far grander than the place it belonged to.

Calling it a diner was probably more accurate, though even that might be a stretch. It had a handful of wobbly tables, a narrow counter that doubled as a bar, and a grill tucked in the back behind a faded curtain.

Maybe the most interesting part of the place was the small upright piano wedged near the corner, next to the storeroom door—half-forgotten, thrifted by the owner on a whim. These days, it served more as decoration, unless someone got tipsy enough to take a crack at it.

It wasn’t glamorous, to say the least, but the food was decent, the portions generous, and the prices fair—more than enough to keep people coming back. Both locals—and, surprisingly, off-duty Terran Corps—showed up after long days to eat, gripe, and knock back a beer or two. There was always chatter, always a little chaos—but the good kind. And thankfully, there wasn’t much tension between the two groups.

That worked well for her. More people and a good atmosphere always translated into better tips.

Inside, Meryl slipped behind the counter to grab her apron but stopped when Nancy, a tall coworker with a towel over her shoulder, flashed a knowing smile.

“Hey, Meryl. Good thing you’re here—you’ve got a customer who asked for you by name.”

Seeing her confused face, Nancy added, “Your friend from the Terran Corps. The one with the puppy eyes.”

That made Meryl pause. She glanced toward the far table and, sure enough, spotted a group of off-duty soldiers. “Jude?”

“That’s the one,” Nancy said, brushing past her with a tray in hand. “He asked me to tell you to bring him a coffee when you came in.”

Meryl sighed, tugged on her apron, and headed over. He was sitting alone in the corner—probably why she hadn’t seen him when she first walked in.

Jude was the young Terran soldier who’d shown up at her door that night—the same night Vash had reappeared. And while she still didn’t love having Corps members sniffing around, she’d taken a mild liking to him. He wasn’t pushy or arrogant, and from the few short conversations they’d had during his breaks, he seemed to think the bounty on Vash was a waste of time.

Which was why, every time his partner got twitchy and started snooping, Jude would swing by afterward to apologize—like it was his personal mission to smooth things over.

“Hey, I heard you were looking for me,” she said as she approached the table, setting the coffee down in front of him.

Jude looked up with an apologetic smile. “Thanks. And yeah—as usual, I’m sorry about the other day. My partner’s way too intense and…”

“A stuck-up?”

“That too.”

Meryl smirked and folded her arms. “Well, like I’ve told you—I know at least you’re just doing your job.”

“I can’t speak for all Terrans, of course, but a lot of us are tired of this,” he said, shrugging. “We keep wondering why we can’t just let you guys be.”

He paused, then leaned in a little, his voice lowering.

“Anyway, I’m sidetracking. I actually wanted to tell you something I figured you’d find interesting.”

There was a beat of quiet as he took a sip of coffee, then glanced around the diner like he was making sure no one was listening too closely.

“Most of the unit’s being reassigned. We’re heading north in the morning. Something about increased patrols near the north.”

Her brow furrowed. “Is that… usual?”

“Not really.” He swirled the coffee in his mug, then met her gaze. “Apparently, there’s been a sighting. Of a guy in a red duster.”

Meryl’s fingers tightened slightly on the back of the chair.

“I shouldn’t be telling you this,” Jude added quickly. “But I figured you’d want to hear it before the rumors start flying. They say he’s alive. Way up north. Caused a stir.”

“That's so...”

“You don’t seem surprised.”

“Oh, I am,” she said quickly. “Just… a little in shock, that’s all. If I’m being honest, I was already starting to lose hope.”

Jude’s expression softened. “That’s why I wanted to tell you. I figured you’d want to know what your friend’s up to. Could be nothing, but… if it buys you a few days of peace from Brett snooping around, I thought it was worth passing along.”

They chatted a little longer—nothing important, just the usual small talk about shifts, the weather, and how things had been around town. When Jude finally stood to leave, Meryl nodded and wished him luck, her smile practiced.

But the second he was out the door, her mind kicked into overdrive.

Because she knew exactly where Vash was—and it definitely wasn’t anywhere near the northern side of Gunsmoke. He was at her apartment—maybe reading, or halfway through sweeping the floor like he did every evening.

If she had to guess, Livio was behind the sudden “sighting.” And if that was the surprise Milly had hinted at in her letter… well, it was one hell of a gift. She didn’t know how he’d pulled it off—faking a lead like that couldn’t have been easy—but it had worked. And the timing? Perfect.

With the Corps shifting their attention north, even if only for a few days, things might finally ease up. No more patrols crawling past her building. No more unexpected visits. 

It gave her room to breathe. Not just to finalize the last arrangement of the broadcast—but maybe, cut Vash some slack by giving him a sense of security.

Vash had just finished mapping out the best route for when they eventually hit the road again. Meryl and Milly already had a rough plan, but he’d offered to help anyway. Sure, he had more years of travel experience that could come in handy in these kinds of situations—but if he was being honest, this wasn’t really about showing off his expertise to the ex-Insurance girls who’d already managed just fine on this planet. Case in point: they’d found him when no one else could.

The truth was, he was running out of things to do while Meryl was away at work.

Aside from his first night in Meryl’s apartment, sleep continued to evade him, and the need to fill the long, quiet hours was becoming harder to ignore. One could only clean and reorganize so many times before running out of chores.

When Meryl was around, it wasn’t so bad. In fact, it was really good. They talked, they spent time together, and for a few hours, his mind didn’t wander into the darker places it had been slipping into lately. Sometimes, just watching her move around the apartment—getting ready for work, humming under her breath, or listening to music with him while they shared a glass of wine—was enough to put him at ease. It reminded him that, in this little corner of the world, things were okay. That he wasn’t completely alone.

But he didn’t want to depend on her like that to keep himself afloat. That wouldn’t be fair. He wanted to be around her simply because he cared—not because she’d become some kind of emotional crutch.

Vash couldn’t help but wonder how he’d come to feel this way so quickly. He’d faced loss and devastation before—ever since he was a child. Why now? Why this persistent sadness that felt impossible to shake?

Maybe it was because, for so long, he’d kept moving, never staying still long enough for his emotions to catch up with him. Maybe the silly mask he wore had buried things too deep. Or maybe, it was what happened with Knives. Maybe that had been the breaking point.

He’d thought—hoped—that in the end, there would be some kind of closure between the two. That if he made it through all, something would feel worth it.

But it didn’t.

And now, the world had finally opened up to him—begging him to live in it—and he was stuck. Stalled in place. Grieving a thousand things at once.

That was the sort of train of thought that kept him awake at night. Again.

With a quiet sigh, Vash rose from the couch and wandered over to the small radio perched on the kitchen shelf. He flipped it on and dialed through the frequencies until a soft instrumental station floated through the static.

He’d always liked music—but it had been Doctor Bond who first suggested turning to it when the spiral thoughts started creeping in. Something about nervous system regulation; there was a whole medical explanation for it. But for Vash, it worked on a different level. A deeper one.

He and his sisters shared a consciousness that, to him, had always sounded like a melody. That innate sense of rhythm, of connection through sound, had followed him through every stage of life.

That’s why he’d always had an ear for music. So had Knives.

Back when they were kids on the ship, they’d picked up the piano without effort, as if notes and chords were a language they already knew. It was one of his fondest memories with Knives—just the two of them at the keys, figuring things out together. 

“But everything had to get complicated…” he murmured under his breath.

He turned the dial a little louder and leaned against the counter. For some reason, his mind was all over the place tonight and now, he had trouble concentrating on the notes coming from the radio instead of the rising weight of his chest. 

The restlessness wasn’t enough to make him feel truly anxious, but it hovered dangerously close—tight in his chest, just shy of unbearable. It wasn’t the kind he was used to. Slower, but stickier. Harder to shake.

He had to change strategies.

Instead of focusing on the music playing from the radio, he let it fade into the background and started building his own. In his mind, one note at a time.

His thoughts loosened, slipping free of their usual tracks. He closed his eyes.

Blue and white came first—soft, familiar hues. The kind he always associated with early morning light. With her. Then came the echo of a laugh. Not loud—more like that sharp little exhale she made when he said something dumb on purpose to get a reaction.

Somehow, those images—those sounds, those textures of memory—became music.

The color of her eyes turned into a high, lingering note. The press of her shoulder brushing his in the kitchen became a low, grounding chord beneath it. Even the way she worried for him carried a rhythm—a pulse tucked somewhere between fondness and frustration. Affection and ache.

A tune surfaced. Warm. Bold. A little rough around the edges—but beautiful. Unmistakably hers.

It had taken a while for the song to take shape. At first, it was nothing but a whisper in the back of his mind, a fleeting note he couldn’t quite place. But the more he got to know her—the more time they shared, the more moments they carved out between the chaos—the clearer it became.

He couldn’t explain why his mind worked this way. Plants could resonate with each other, sure—but humans? Not like this. It was probably something he invented—some strange trick of emotion and memory. But that didn’t make it any less real. Or any less comforting, especially now.

A quiet breath slipped out as he ran a hand through his hair.

With time, he’d come to realize this was less a grounding technique and more the way his heart recognized her. And the truth of that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

The sound of keys turning in the door broke the spell. He didn’t flinch—Meryl was the only one with a key—but still, his pulse ticked up. She wasn’t supposed to be home yet.

The door creaked open, and she stepped inside, moving fast—coat half-shrugged off, boots tracking dust across the floor. She looked energized, like whatever had brought her back early had her running on adrenaline.

“Vash! You’re still up?” she said, tossing her bag onto the kitchen counter.

“Yeah, I was working on the map, and then I got distracted,” he said quickly, not eager to dive into another conversation about his sleep habits. “What’s up? You okay? I thought your shift ended in like, two hours.”

“I left early,” she said, practically bouncing where she stood, her grin barely contained. “I had to tell you—Jude, the Terran guy? He said there was a sighting. A guy in a red coat. Up north. They’re sending a unit to check if it’s you.”

“But I’m right here,” he blurted, still not following.

Meryl rolled her eyes—he could be so dense sometimes. So she explained the rest: what Milly had said in her letter, Livio’s “surprise,” and how it all lined up as a carefully timed plan to pull attention away from November.

Vash blinked, finally connecting the dots. “You really think that’s him?”

Her smirk said it all. “Come on. You think he wouldn’t throw on a red coat and stir up chaos to help you out?”

He stared at her for a beat—and then let out a soft laugh. “Yeah. I’d be more surprised if it wasn’t him.”

It was genuinely uplifting—Livio going through all that trouble, Milly probably helping coordinate it, and now Meryl sitting beside him, cheeks a little pink, eyes bright with excitement. Moments like this reminded him of something he too often forgot: he wasn’t alone. No matter what had happened, no matter how things had fallen apart, there were still people in his corner.

“This couldn’t have come at a better time,” Meryl said. “We’re just a few weeks away from leaving, and with Milly coming back soon, she’ll probably be around a lot to help finish the prep. That’s why we decided to live separately in the first place—to avoid drawing attention. If they saw us together too often, it might’ve looked suspicious. But now, with the Terrans backing off a little… It makes everything easier.”

The words made something twist in Vash’s chest. He hadn’t realized how closely she’d been watched until he saw it himself. At first, he’d thought she was exaggerating when she said the Terran Corps hovered around her place. But it wasn’t a joke. He’d watched from the window—how patrols lingered near her building, how they sometimes trailed her all the way to the restaurant. It made his skin crawl.

Honestly, it felt like a miracle—or just his usual dumb luck—that he’d made it here at all without getting caught.

He looked at her now—really looked at her—and the weight of it settled deep.

She had endured all of this. The surveillance, the isolation, the endless tightrope walk of pretending everything was fine. Yet here she was, sitting beside him, smiling, thinking ahead, finding hope in a window of reprieve.

Maybe that was part of why he’d come back to her in the first place. Because even if he trusted she’d survive whatever the world threw at her, he couldn’t live with the thought of her doing it alone—especially when so many of her current complications were a consequence of his actions.

Suddenly, a spark lit behind his eyes. He had an idea. It wouldn’t fix everything, but it might help lift him out of his slump and also, it could be a small way of giving something back to her for a change.

“So, do you know what this means?” he asked, his expression playful.

“Of course. It means we can move forward with the plan—without the risk of being caught. Like I told you.”

“Yes,” he said, grinning. “But not just that. I was thinking… maybe we could go out. Do something fun. Together.”

He didn’t say the word date , but it was hard to ignore the way her heart skipped a beat. And honestly, her first instinct was to say yes. She could already think of a few places he’d enjoy—somewhere that might pull him out of the fog he’d been trapped in lately. But just as quickly as the thought formed, the more cautious, pragmatic part of her kicked in.

“It’s not that I wouldn’t want to,” she said, keeping her tone even, “but there are still Terran soldiers around, even if patrols have eased up. I’m probably still on their watchlist. Don’t you think if I suddenly showed up with a guy—a tall one, with a mechanical arm—they’d start putting two and two together?”

Vash paused, tilting his head, fingers brushing his chin in thought. “Okay… so the problem’s not me going outside. It’s us being seen together .”

“I’m not ashamed of you, if that’s what you’re implying,” she said.

“I wasn’t,” he replied quickly, eyes wide. “If anything, I agree with you. It’d look suspicious. A little too sudden.” He paused, the wheels clearly turning. “But what if… we didn’t go together? I mean, not together -together.”

“That would defeat the entire purpose, wouldn’t it?”

“Not if we do it right.”

“What do you mean?”

Vash leaned forward like he was letting her in on a secret and laid out what was in his head. As expected, it was a reckless, poorly thought-out idea, built entirely on sheer nerve and hopeful timing—but that was also the kind of thinking that had gotten him this far. So maybe it wasn’t that outrageous.

That was just how his brain worked.

But more than the plan itself, what caught her off guard was how happy he looked. Genuinely happy. Maybe it didn’t matter how silly the idea was—what mattered was that he wanted something. He was trying.

That, more than anything, made it hard to say no.

Meryl rolled her eyes again, feigning annoyance. “I’m not sure about this, but it’s not like I can stop you from doing anything.”

“So… is that a yes?”

“It’s more like a ‘do as you please’—but yeah.”

As soon as she muttered her approval, Vash lit up, practically vibrating with barely-contained energy. He launched into the details of his so-called covert plan for tomorrow—laying out the route they’d take, the timing, the backup ideas. He talked with his hands, eyes gleaming with something close to mischief. There was a childish glee in the way he described sneaking around like a secret agent.

Even if she wasn’t completely sold on the idea, Meryl couldn’t stop herself from smiling.

Because this version of him—animated, silly, alive—was part of his real self. She knew he sometimes wore that persona like armor, but that didn’t make it any less sincere. If going along with this ridiculous plan helped him remember he could be that way again… then maybe taking the risk was worth it.

She’d be cautious tomorrow. But tonight?

She was just glad to see him smile like that again.

Chapter Text

It was Meryl’s day off, and the streets of November were buzzing more than usual. The weekly open-air market had taken over the plaza near the transport hub—rows of canvas stalls crammed with everything from secondhand tech scraps to hand-stitched blankets and fried snacks sizzling in oil. Kids darted between booths with sugar-sticky fingers, and someone strummed a half-tuned string instrument near the fountain.

There was a subtle but noticeable shift in the air. Maybe it was the music, or the scent of sweet bread wafting through the alleys—or maybe it was the absence of Terran Corps soldiers posted on every corner. Surveillance was still present, but it felt like more the kind people remembered from before the war.

Meryl walked with practiced ease, one hand clutching her purse a little tighter than necessary, her gaze sweeping casually over the crowd. She tried to look relaxed. Normal. Like any other local enjoying a free afternoon.

But every so often, her eyes darted over her shoulder or lingered at a corner a second too long.

Because he said he’d be around.

A “covert date,” Vash had called it last night—said with such enthusiasm that she hadn’t had the heart to shut him down. She still thought the plan was an unnecessary risk, but at the same time, it was weirdly sweet that he put so much effort into spending time with her. 

It hadn’t escaped Meryl that being cooped up in less-than-ideal circumstances was doing Vash’s already fragile mental health no favors. A change of air made sense. Besides, he’d always gone wherever he wanted, risks be damned. It wasn’t like he needed her permission to go out.

However, last night, he’d been unusually insistent—not only about convincing her it was a good idea, but also that she come with him. He hadn’t said it outright, yet the look he gave her made it clear: if she didn’t agree, he likely wouldn’t go at all. And that wasn’t what she wanted.

So she said yes. Not just to going out, but to doing it his way.

They’d worked out a loose arrangement: she’d follow her usual route, stop by her favorite stalls, and he’d trail her at a distance. Same place, same time, but never side by side. No talking. No eye contact. He’d pitched it like it was nothing—like it made perfect sense. And maybe to him, it did.

To her? Not so much. But she was already out here. If she got cold feet, he’d still do as he pleased. That was Vash after all.

She paused near a stall selling books. No sign of him yet. Or he might’ve already been there, careful as promised. Vash could blend in when he wanted to—even back when he wore bright red and left cities in chaos.

She tried not to smile at that.

Her fingers brushed over the cracked spines of old paperbacks. Some titles were sun-bleached beyond recognition, others dog-eared and held together with tape—but she liked looking anyway. It gave her an excuse to linger.

Then someone stepped up beside her.

She didn’t flinch, kept her eyes on the books even as her heart gave a small jump. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted him—no red coat, of course. A loose button-up with the sleeves rolled, and instead of his usual yellow-tinted glasses, a plain pair of sunglasses.

Were those… Wolfwood’s?

It caught her off guard. She hadn’t thought he was at a point where he could wear something of Wolfwood’s—especially not out in public. It could’ve been a sign of progress. Or he might’ve just needed a pair of sunglasses.

Meryl hoped it was the former.

She didn’t let herself dwell on it—not with him standing this close.

At some point, Vash struck up a casual conversation with the vendor, flipping through a battered sci-fi paperback. His posture was relaxed, almost playful—nothing unusual for someone browsing a market stall. He never looked at her or acknowledged her presence, but the proximity was intentional. Close, without crossing the line.

After a moment, he wandered to the next stall, hands in his pockets, still playing the part. He didn’t glance back.

Catching her cue, Meryl paid for the book she’d been eyeing, slipped it into her bag, and started walking again. A few steps behind, he followed. Keeping pace, letting her lead.

And that was how most of the afternoon passed.

They drifted through the crowd in quiet sync. Meryl would pause to make a purchase or linger at a display, and Vash would hover nearby, pretending to browse. More than once, a Terran soldier passed close by. Some even recognized her—but none paid any attention to the man a few meters away. He was nothing but a fixture in the already crowded streets.

It was almost hilarious—how easy it was to go unnoticed when people were too convinced that you wouldn’t dare be right under their noses.

Eventually, she stopped at a small outdoor café near the edge of the plaza. She ordered a coffee and sat at one of the side tables—not quite the corner, but close enough to give her a decent view and a bit of space.

A moment later, Vash appeared and slid into the seat behind her, back-to-back. To anyone else, they were strangers—two people taking a break near each other.

“Hey,” he whispered, not turning around. “This has been really fun.”

“And dangerous,” she muttered into her coffee.

“But fun,” he repeated, the grin audible in his voice. “Also, I think not a single Terran soldier has given me a second look. They’re too busy worrying about everything else.”

When she didn’t respond right away, he added, more teasing now, “Come on, admit it. You’re having a good time.”

“I’d enjoy it more if I didn’t have to worry the whole time.”

“So you admit you’re having a good time. That’s a win for me.”

She snorted under her breath.

“You act like the responsible one,” he went on, “but deep down, you’ve got a knack for danger. That’s probably why you keep me around.”

Meryl rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth tugged upward. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Too late. So—what’s next?”

She took another slow sip, eyes on the street. “I was thinking we could pass by my job. You haven’t seen it yet. And with the Corps mostly gone, the regulars might actually be in a good mood. The festive vibe might’ve made it there too—so you won’t look suspicious.”

Behind her, she heard the soft huff of a laugh.

“Lead the way when you’re ready.”

They lingered a while longer—two silhouettes in the sun, sharing silence between sips of coffee. It was the only time they spoke all afternoon. They hadn’t done anything that fit the mold of a “date”—not that this was one, officially. No hand-holding. No lingering stares.

And yet, somehow, it felt just as meaningful.

Maybe even more so.

By the time they reached La Mansion, the sky had shifted to a soft amber. The diner was already buzzing. People had come out in higher numbers than usual, likely encouraged by the rare absence of Terran patrols. The mood was cheerful, voices overlapping over sizzling food, clinking glasses, and the low hum of the jukebox.

They’d entered separately, like they said they would. Meryl made her way to the bar, where a few of her coworkers were already halfway through the dinner shift. She slipped into conversation, laughing at their jokes, and waving off a teasing comment about showing up on her day off.

A few seats down, Vash had taken a stool near the far end. He kept to himself, eyes on the chalkboard menu as he placed an order. For a moment, he looked like he was on his best behavior.

At some point, he lifted a hand and waved over one of the waitresses.

Out of the corner of her eye, Meryl saw him lean in toward Nancy, speaking low. Whatever he said made her laugh out loud. When Nancy glanced over with a knowing look, it was clear enough.

He was definitely up to something.

A moment later, Nancy returned with two bottles, setting them down in front of him with an amused shake of her head. Before Meryl could fully process what was happening, Vash was already moving—sliding into the stool beside her.

“Hey. Can I buy you a drink?” 

She blinked, trying to keep her composure even as her heart skipped. Not because he was blatantly ignoring their agreement—though he clearly was—but because of how he said it. He still sounded like himself, but there was a smoothness now, a quiet confidence she wasn’t used to. Even the way he held himself had shifted—more assured, less fidgety. To anyone watching, he looked like a man making a move, calm and certain it would land.

It shouldn’t have worked. And yet, heat crept up her neck before she could stop it.

“What are you doing?” she hissed under her breath. “We’re not supposed to—”

“I’m just a guy chatting up a girl at the bar,” he cut in smoothly, lifting the bottle in a lazy shrug. “That’s what I told your coworker, anyway. My acting must be pretty convincing—she totally bought it.”

He tilted his head slightly toward Nancy, who was already whispering to another waitress, clearly delighted by the scene.

So this was nothing more than keeping their cover.

The realization sent a flicker of disappointment through her.

“You’re playing dirty,” Meryl muttered, sighing as she took the bottle from his hand.

“I know, I know,” he said, not even trying to hide how pleased he was. “It’s been a great day, but… I didn’t realize how much I’d missed being this close to you.”

The disappointment melted away almost as fast as it had come.

He wasn’t making a move—not really—but that admission still made her cheeks burn.

She wanted to tell him she’d missed him too. Not just today— today was nothing . She’d missed him all the times he hadn’t been around.

It wasn't the right moment to do so, though.

That kind of honesty could’ve opened the door to a much heavier conversation, and she wasn’t in the mood for that.

Instead, she took a long sip of her drink and steered them somewhere safer—talking about the market, the odd stalls they’d passed (including one that looked suspiciously like it was selling knockoff firecrackers and backyard fireworks), and the food stands, some more appetizing than others. 

At one point, they both burst out laughing, remembering a vendor from their road days who once tried to sell them “spicy meat skewers” that turned out to be cactus slugs.

Everything felt easy. Uncomplicated. Vash was relaxed in a way he hadn’t been in weeks. The weight that had clung to him since the night he returned was still there, but dulled, pushed back by the kind of fleeting, electric optimism that often came after a long slump. 

Maybe that was why, when his gaze drifted across the room and landed on the upright piano in the corner, he didn’t hesitate. He set down his bottle and reached for her hand.

Meryl narrowed her eyes, letting him lead—but dragging her feet a little.

“Wait, what are you doing—?”

No answer. Just that reckless, boyish glint in his eye she’d seen a hundred times. He led her across the room and claimed the bench without pause. The stool gave a soft groan as he adjusted his posture.

“Are you trying to make a fool of yourself?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?”

“How do you plan to play that if you don’t even know how?”

He gave her a sideways glance, the corner of his mouth tilting up in that infuriatingly smug way she knew too well. “Who said I didn’t?”

With a small flourish—showboating, clearly—he flexed his fingers and began to play.

The diner around them stayed loud: clinking plates, bursts of laughter, boots scraping across tile. No one seemed to notice the piano had joined the noise. It blended in, part of the rhythm of the evening.

But not for her.

She hovered nearby, half-shadowed by the storeroom door, watching his hands move across the keys with surprising ease.

He drifted through familiar fragments—popular tunes, half-remembered melodies. A playful run here, the echo of a chorus there. Then he paused, eyes flicking up to meet hers, lit with mischief. As if to say, this next part—this one’s for you.

The notes spilled out slowly at first, hesitant, then began to take shape—forming a melody as beautiful as it was contradictory. It was bright in places, even cheerful, with a kind of joy threaded through its core. But there was weight beneath it too—like it had known sorrow and learned to move forward anyway. A song that carried both light and ache, without choosing one over the other.

She tilted her head. Where had he learned that?

For a while, she simply watched him—how focused he was, how completely absorbed in the keys. There was a softness to it, a kind of reverence in the way he moved, as if the music was something he was remembering, not creating.

Seeing him like that stirred a memory—not hers, but his. One he’d once shared in fragments he hadn’t meant to give. Two boys, identical, seated at a piano. Their hands moving in sync. Arguing over chords. Laughing. One of them—Knives—carefree in a way she could hardly imagine now. So young. So full of light. Still innocent.

As if the same image had surfaced for him, Vash’s expression shifted. The light in his eyes dimmed, the way it always did when the past caught up to him. He paused mid-note, as if the music had drained out of him all at once. For a moment, he stayed there—unmoving, staring at his hands.

A quiet breath escaped him, part sigh, part laugh.

“Guess I’m a little rustier than I thought,” he said, offering her a sheepish half-smile. “Might be time we head back before I embarrass myself further.”

Before she could say anything, he stood and turned away, already making his way back toward the bar—like the moment had never happened.

Meryl stayed where she was, eyes still fixed on the keys.

She didn’t follow right away. Her hand hovered at her side, then fell uselessly against her coat. The piano sat in front of her, quiet now, the shape of the melody still echoing in her ears. She didn’t know what to do with the silence he left behind.

They left La Mansion not long after, stepping out into the cooling night air. Since they’d already established the cover of having only met a few hours ago, Meryl figured it wouldn’t matter much if they were seen walking together. If it did—well, she realized she didn’t really care anymore.

The city had settled into its evening rhythm. Voices echoed down the alleyways, laughter spilled from corners where people lingered outside bars and food stalls. A faint smell of sulfur hung in the air as a group of children ran past, shrieking with delight, their sparklers painting quick flashes of gold across the darkness.

Neither of them had said more than a few words since the piano incident.

Vash didn’t look upset. He didn’t look much of anything, really. He walked beside her, but his thoughts were elsewhere. That happened sometimes—he’d go quiet, slip back, watching the world like he wasn’t part of it. Calm. Remov

Meryl wasn’t the type to leave things alone. Stubborn by nature and wired to fix what felt broken, her instinct was always to act—to ask, to push. But with Vash, she’d learned to hold back—at least sometimes. Some silences deserved space. As long as they were moments of reflection, not retreat, she’d let them be.

The risk was how easily those quiet spells could deepen—how they sometimes slipped into places much harder to return from.

Some might say it wasn’t her responsibility to bring him back from that. And they’d be right. She’d never set out to become a lifeline for him. Everything she did came down to one simple truth, though: in her heart, he was worth fighting for—again and again.

So when she caught that faraway look slipping back into his expression—the kind that meant he was already halfway gone, locked behind thoughts he wouldn’t share—she didn’t hesitate anymore.

“Mind if we rest for a minute before going back?” she said suddenly, nodding toward a small park tucked between two buildings, mostly empty except for a few kids chasing their last firecrackers. 

He glanced at her, nodded once, and walked with her toward one of the furthest benches around.

They sat in silence. Vash leaned back, eyes unfocused, staring at nothing in particular. His expression was unreadable. For a moment, it felt like he wasn’t really there at all—which unsettled Meryl more than she cared to admit. So when the timing felt right, she gently spoke up again.

“I liked the song you played back there. Sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it.”

Her question seemed to stir him. He looked over, and a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“I wish I could’ve finished it. Sorry for cutting it short.”

“You remembered something sad. It’s only normal.There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

It took him a few seconds to realize what she was implying.

Sometimes he forgot—she’d seen almost all his memories. Of course the whole situation had brought her back to the same place it had taken him.

She reached over, resting a hand on his arm and gave him a kind look. “Want to talk about it? I’m an excellent listener.”

Absolutely not, he thought. And felt awful for it—because she was being so thoughtful, so patient, and he had nothing but evasion to offer her.

Trying to find a way out that wouldn’t hurt her, he said instead, “It’s complicated. I’m not even sure myself what happened.”

“You know me. I love resolving complicated things so try me.”

“There are things not even you can fix.”

The moment that sentence left his mouth, regret surged hard and fast. She flinched slightly, and though she tried to hide it, the hurt in her eyes was impossible to miss. Her hand slipped from his arm.

Leaning forward, he rushed to undo the damage. “What I mean is… I don’t expect you to fix everything about me. That wouldn’t be fair to you.”

“I’m aware of that,” she said, frustration slipping through. “No one can fix someone else—I know that. I’m not pretending I can make it all go away. I just want to help you through it. If you’ll let me.”

She meant it—he could see that. Even with the sting still in her expression, she hadn’t pulled back. She never did. And by now, he doubted she ever would.

He didn’t understand it—not really. Her devotion felt so wildly undeserved. That didn’t make him any less grateful for it, though.

So for  all the things he couldn’t offer, he could try to give her an explanation of what happened.

“You are right. I remembered Knives back there. And I got overwhelmed.”

Meryl watched him for a moment, absorbing what he’d just said. Her expression softened. Then, with the smallest nod, she encouraged him to go on.

Maybe he could do this after all.

“There’s so much wrapped up in him,” he went on again, “Love. Anger. Guilt. It’s all tangled. I don’t even know what I’m feeling—only that it’s too much. Like I’m stuck there with him, and I can’t move forward because...”

The words tangled and fell apart mid-thought, unraveling before he could finish. Nothing he’d said made any real sense—not even to himself. A shaky breath slipped out, and after a beat, he tried again.

“Okay. I should probably start from the beginning.”

What followed came out flat, almost mechanical. He told her how he and Knives had fought. How he’d stepped in when Chronica came for him. How Knives had taken him to Mesa Probe afterward. The details fell into place one by one, stripped of emotion by sheer effort—yet still, Meryl caught the falters. The slight hesitations. 

When he explained how Knives had not only helped nurse him back to health but had grown attached to Dr. Bond and his young son, Meryl couldn’t hide her shock—and Vash noticed it immediately.

“I know, I was surprised too,” he murmured, more to himself than to her. “Of all people... it’s strange that Knives had a change of heart like that. In a way, it makes sense. Between the two of us, he was always more curious about humans than me when we were kids. He wanted to connect with them so badly, and at the very end, he did. Only that…”

The rest refused to come out. Whatever he’d been trying to say twisted inside his throat, too heavy to speak. His gaze dropped to the ground, like the weight of it all was dragging him down from the inside.

“I’m so mad at him,” he said, the words coming sharper now. “I tried so hard to reach him. And perhaps I did… but I never got to see it. We barely spoke after I woke up. I know he was ashamed—fine—but he could’ve at least tried. That was the least he could’ve done. He owed me that much.”

A shaky breath slipped out. One hand dragged across his face, like he could scrub the grief away with it.

“I’m mad about that. And everything else. He was a monster, but he was my brother, and I loved him. I shouldn’t miss him…”

The last words cracked apart mid-air. He curled inward, bracing against the ache rising in his chest.

Vash didn’t notice exactly when she moved—only that, suddenly, her arms were around him, her chin resting lightly against his head as she drew him in.

Stillness took hold, part shock, part relief. The shelter of her embrace settled over him like a blanket, and maybe it was that sense of safety that finally let the tears come.

They started silently. Then came the choked sobs.

Grieving like this had always felt like betrayal—to the people his brother had hurt, to the pain Knives had caused, even to himself. He’d avoided it for so long, convinced it wasn’t something he had the right to feel.

But Meryl didn’t seem upset. She kept holding him with the same care she seemed to have reserved only for him.

When he finally managed to whisper an apology, her arms only tightened in response—a silent reassurance that no part of him needed to be sorry.

After a beat, she eased back far enough to find his face again. Warm palms framed his cheeks, coaxing his gaze upward with a gentleness that made it impossible to look away. Her thumbs swept softly beneath his eyes, catching the last of his tears.

“I’ll never forgive Knives for what he put you through,” she said, voice thickening as emotion crept in, “but that doesn’t mean I expect you to hate him. I know it’s more complicated than that.”

Without pausing to think what it might mean for either of them, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek—right where the tears had fallen.

“Only you could feel guilty for something so human.” Her smile trembled, eyes shining. “You care so much it hurts—and that’s exactly what makes you incredible.”

Breath caught, eyes wide, he could only look at her as her gaze met his—full of warmth and fierce tenderness

The glow of a nearby streetlamp softened her features, casting a gentle light across the curve of her jaw and the strength in her eyes. She was beautiful.

It struck him all at once. This woman, seated beside him, meant everything. Not because she stayed. Not because she understood. Not even because she loved him so fiercely.

But because she was her . Because something in the way she existed made him want to try. To be better. To live.

His heart was loud in his chest, full to the brim, and all he wanted was to reaffirm what it was screaming.

He leaned in again, drawn by a pull that had always been there, waiting for the right moment.

Meryl didn’t shy away.

She leaned in, too.

They were close—closer than they’d ever allowed themselves to be. That line they’d danced around for so long was finally about to be crossed. And neither of them cared what came next.

A loud crack! shattered the moment between them.

They flinched, the sound sharp enough to cut through the stillness. Meryl stepped back without thinking, putting space between them. Vash mirrored her, as if an invisible thread had snapped.

Laughter followed as a group of kids tore past, scattering in all directions. Firecrackers hissed and popped across the pavement in sharp bursts. Nearby, a Terran soldier pushed through the crowd, barking orders as he moved to break things up.

Meryl blinked, still slightly dazed from what had happened—or more exactly, what had almost happened. Then reality clicked back into place.

They needed to leave. The last thing either of them needed now was to get caught by Terran forces. 

She rose quickly, brushing her palms against her coat. “We should go.”

Vash followed a heartbeat later, giving his shirt a distracted tug, like he could smooth away what had nearly happened between them.

They left the park walking side by side. The silence between them felt eerily familiar—like the one that lingered after La Mansion. But this time, it wasn’t about avoidance or tension. It was uncertainty.

Meryl’s thoughts spun as they walked. Was he mad? Uncomfortable? Had she pushed too far? He’d seemed just as willing, but he’d also been vulnerable. Had she misread the moment?

By the time her building came into view, her nerves were running wild. Thankfully, there was no need to revisit the plan—they’d gone over it last night. She’d go in first, alone. Vash would loop around the block, wait for the usual onlookers to drift off, then slip in through the kitchen window.

Some space wouldn’t hurt. Probably it was a good idea.

Still, she didn’t want to leave things weird between them. Better to say something.

“Feel any better?” she asked, trying to sound as casual as possible. 

“Yeah… actually. I mean, it’s not like everything’s magically okay now. But…” He let out a breath.“There’s more room in my chest than there was this morning.”

“I’m glad.”

Despite herself, her eyes searched his face. Like she was looking for cracks. Or for confirmation —that whatever had passed between them hadn’t broken anything.

Catching on to her reaction, Vash realized he had to speak up too before she started second-guessing herself. After everything they’d shared, letting her carry that doubt would be cruel.

Whatever misgivings he had—about hurting her, about not being enough—could wait. Everything was already out there. Might as well keep it that way.

“Hey… back there. It wasn’t because I was vulnerable,” he said. “I wanted it to happen.”

“It’s okay if you got caught in the moment,” she replied quickly, a faint flush rising. “It’s been… kind of an emotional night.”

“It has,” he admitted. “But that’s not why I…” He dragged a hand over his face, palm pressing briefly to his forehead. Now that he was finally trying to be honest, his brain seemed to be short-circuiting. “That’s what I’m trying to say. I’ve been thinking about you like that for a while now.”

When she turned to him, disbelief flickered behind her eyes. Like maybe she couldn’t quite accept that. Like she wasn’t sure he meant it the way it sounded.

Say something, he thought, the words looping as panic crept in. His mind scrambled, searching for anything that could explain how this wasn’t a simple impulse—but the result of feelings that had been building for a long time.

As the anxiety surged, he reached for the one thing that always helped him find his footing—that string of notes that reminded him of her.

Then it hit him.

That could be the answer.

“That song you liked!” he blurted—louder than intended. “Do you remember it?”

She blinked, thrown by the shift in topic. “What about it?”

“It’s kind of a Plant thing,” he said, rubbing at the back of his neck with a sheepish shrug. “We share melodies, so we’re... more sensitive to sound, I guess. Sometimes, the things that matter most to us sort of… turn into music. Color, texture, emotion—it all becomes a kind of melody in our minds.”

“What I’m trying to say is…” He paused, catching the slight tilt of her head—curious, but still not quite following. His gaze found hers again.

“That melody you liked… it sounded familiar because it’s you. That’s what you sound like to me. What I feel when I look at you.

I can’t hear you—not exactly—but whenever I’ve felt lost, even before the war ended… you were always there. Like that. And I wouldn’t change it for anything.”

Her world seemed to tilt a little at that confession.

Of all the things he could’ve said, that wasn’t what she was prepared for.

She’d thought the melody was beautiful—and it had genuinely impressed her that Vash was skilled enough to play something so layered, so tender. But she’d never imagined she was the reason it existed. That she had lived inside his heart like that, all this time.

It was too soon for him to say “I love you,” so she hadn’t expected anything of the sort when he spoke up. But what he said instead landed even deeper.

In that moment, Meryl felt seen— truly seen—known, and cherished in a way she hadn’t thought possible.

Vash chuckled, watching her try to piece together a reply. Somehow, he’d pulled off the impossible—made Meryl Stryfe’s brain stop working.

Honesty, it turned out, wasn’t as terrifying as he thought. She hadn’t pulled away. The sky hadn’t fallen. Maybe they were going to be okay.

A small smile lingered on his face as he took a step back—not turning yet, like part of him didn’t want to look away. Then, gently, he offered her the out she seemed to need.

“I’m glad we cleared things up a bit,” he said, backing up a step.. “I’ll circle around now—don’t want to mess up the plan. See you soon.”

Only then did he turn and walk away.

She didn’t stop him. Didn’t call out. Simply stood in the hush of the sidewalk, surrounded by the low hum of streetlights and distant laughter.

Her pulse hadn’t settled, still echoing everything he’d just said.

And somewhere beneath it all, the memory of that melody still played—soft and luminous.

Hers—but not hers.

His—but meant for her.

Chapter Text

The main conference hall aboard the Torian—a Terran flagship stationed in orbit above Gunsmoke—was uncomfortably formal.

A large circular table occupied the center, glowing with shifting tactical overlays and topographic scans. Seated around it were representatives from every major faction with a stake in the planet’s post-war future: Terran Corps officers in rigid uniforms, civilian scientists from the planetary development division, envoys from Earth’s diplomatic council, a certain Independent with a guarded expression, and observers from other human colonies. Against the walls, aides stood at attention, silently recording every word.

At her usual place near the middle ring, Chronica sat with her hands clasped, posture calm. She’d sat through dozens of these strategic briefings over the past six months, but something about this one felt heavier. Like tension had arrived early and hadn’t yet found its seat.

A junior soldier stepped forward to deliver the latest update. "Our intelligence reports confirm sightings of the rogue Plant known as Vash the Stampede near the Hopeland border," he began, tapping through holo-feeds until a map zoomed into the region in question. "We haven’t been able to secure photographic evidence, but several field agents stationed in the area have reported visual contact."

His voice wavered slightly, and his grip on the datapad betrayed the nerves he was trying to mask. Hardly surprising—this was a room full of people with power and very little patience for ambiguity.

The pause that followed didn’t last long.

"From a theoretical standpoint, it tracks," someone said smoothly.

Attention shifted to Colonel Morris. He’d been silent until now, watching the room like it owed him something. His words arrived with the practiced ease of a man who enjoyed the sound of his own rank.

Newly appointed to oversee "post-conflict stabilization," Morris had arrived from Earth only weeks prior. He hadn’t offered much during previous sessions, but when he did speak, it was with the subtle arrogance of someone who expected to be obeyed.

"One of Vash’s allies—Livio the Double Fang—runs an orphanage nearby, doesn’t he?" he added, reclining slightly as if the matter was already settled.

The presenting soldier nodded, thrown a little by the interruption. "Yes, sir. The orphanage has been under surveillance for weeks. No contact as of yet, but we’re operating under the assumption it’s only a matter of time. Backup units are already in position."

A few heads around the table dipped in agreement.

Looking satisfied with the momentum, Morris stood and made his way to the front. With a dismissive nod, he signaled the soldier aside, then turned to address the room like a general rallying a parade.

"I don’t know about the rest of you," he said, "but personally, this Plant isn’t my top concern. And I can assure you—many in high command back on Earth feel the same. The real issue is the condition of this planet. It’s fractured, volatile… and frankly, savage. That kind of instability is what puts long-term colonial security at risk."

Teeth clenched, Chronica stared down at her stylus. If she heard "colonial security" used as justification one more time, she wasn’t sure she could stop herself from throwing something.

Across the table, Mr. Vance lifted an eyebrow. One of the council’s most respected scientists, he had helped mediate between Terran forces and local human populations during the worst moments of the war. He didn’t say a word, but the slight tic of disapproval in his expression said plenty.

"Excuse me, Colonel Morris," said a voice from farther down the table. A diplomat, judging by her insignia. "But don’t you think calling them 'savages' is a step too far? Their colonies may have developed differently, but that doesn’t make them inferior."

A delegate across the room scoffed. "Oh, come on. The Colonel’s just saying what a lot of us are already thinking. Have you looked at how they live? They settle arguments with bullets. They celebrate an outlaw like Vash the Stampede as some kind of messiah. Don’t dress it up—we’re not talking about civilized governance here."

A ripple of uneasy laughter followed. Not everyone agreed, but no one was quick to object.

That changed when a young voice rose from the side of the table.

"First of all," the speaker said, rising to her feet, "I don’t appreciate the way this conversation is implying the people of this planet are lesser than us. Where exactly did that idea come from?"

All eyes turned.

It was Naomi. Part of Vance’s team, a junior scientist with a spotless record and a soft-spoken reputation. The kind who usually stayed quiet, took notes, dressed neatly, and kept to the margins.

But not now.

Now she stood with her shoulders squared and her voice clear.

"Do I really need to remind everyone here that we, as Terrans, are no better? We may have more advanced technology. More funding. Cleaner uniforms. But moral superiority? That’s not something we can claim." She let the silence stretch a beat. "The only reason we’re scattered across the stars is because we destroyed our own homeworld."

Morris's expression faltered, just slightly. His confident smirk lost a degree of polish.

"We’ve heard this mindset before," Naomi continued. "It was used back on Earth—against our own. Against the Independents at some point too. And now it’s being recycled to target Gunsmoke."

For a moment, no one moved. The weight of Naomi’s words lingered, and for those familiar with Earth’s long, shameful history of radicalized rhetoric, it hit a little too close. No one liked to be reminded of the past when trying to posture as the more evolved kind.

Sensing the discomfort—and the perfect opportunity to reclaim control—Morris stepped forward with deliberate calm. He offered Naomi a smug smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Well, young lady, order is a kind of care. Gunsmoke could use more of it. Structure. Oversight. A guiding hand. That’s all we’re talking about. No need to dig so deep. The young are always so passionate, wouldn’t you agree?"

Polite laughter followed. Somehow, Morris had shifted the spotlight back onto himself, leaving Naomi diminished by comparison.

From where she sat, Chronica saw the flicker of frustration in Naomi’s face—held in check, but unmistakable. She’d seen that look before. Domina had worn it, too. Quiet didn’t mean weak. Maybe that’s why Naomi and Domina had grown so close. Idealists. Unafraid to speak when it mattered.

Across the table, Vance reached out and rested a hand on Naomi’s shoulder—firm, measured, a gesture of reassurance. While she held her composure, Morris continued, slipping into a winding tangent about martial law and "restoring order," his words deliberately vague and measured enough to sound reasonable.

Someone raised the risk of civil unrest. Another warned about backlash if the locals caught wind of what was being discussed. Voices overlapped, disagreement wrapped in formal tones. The edges of the room frayed.

Chronica considered stepping in. Offering the calm, rational voice of the Independents. But these things had a way of burning themselves out. Morris wasn’t dangerous, not in the way that mattered. 

Her thoughts wandered—inevitably—to Vash the Stampede and his brother. The only reason she still bothered showing up to these meetings. She kept hoping someone would finally acknowledge them as the priority they were. The real source of unrest. Not the people. Not the settlements. Not the century-old culture the Terrans refused to understand.

So when the conversation circled back to orbital fuel allocations, Chronica rose quietly and exited, not bothering to announce her departure.

This had been a waste of time.

The corridor outside was colder, quieter. She moved quickly, ignoring the voices that followed—requests for her time, her opinion, her presence. If they wanted her attention, they could schedule something like everyone else. And maybe then, she’d decide if it was worth it.

Halfway to the elevators, she heard a voice she couldn’t quite ignore.

"Leaving already?"

It was Mr. Vance, catching up with long strides.

She sighed—more tired than annoyed. He knew she hadn’t wanted to linger, and to his credit, he didn’t press. Still, he was one of the few people she respected enough not to brush off. And thankfully, Naomi wasn’t with him. Chronica had been avoiding her since Domina’s death, and she had every intention of keeping it that way.

"There’s nothing more I can do here, so yes. I’m leaving," she said, slowing enough to let him fall into step beside her.

"It was a strange meeting," Vance said. "But not unexpected. Morris has been hinting at this kind of intervention for weeks. He finally said it out loud."

Chronica said nothing at first, her silence deliberate. In hindsight, it explained the tension she’d felt earlier. The expectant looks. The unease. People had known this was coming. She simply hadn’t recognized it.

"You know you have the authority to shut this down, right?"

Slowing, she angled toward him, one brow lifting. "Excuse me?"

"You outrank him. You’re the only one in that room who could’ve dismantled every word he said." He gave her a measured look. "He doesn’t care about order. He wants control. To replace the local government and lead it himself."

"Earth Command would never allow that," she said, the words sharp as a scalpel. "His rhetoric is absurd, and everyone knows it. I’m not going to waste time on a fantasy."

Vance slowed, nodding toward the wide glass window.

Across the hall, Colonel Morris stood surrounded by a cluster of younger delegates, speaking with theatrical confidence. Big gestures. Clear voice. Just enough polish to look like certainty.

And the worst part? They were listening.

"Plant the right kind of idea in minds dumb enough to let it take root," Vance said, "and absurd becomes dangerous."

A voice called out to him from down the hall—sharp, insistent.

He acknowledged her with a short, decisive nod, offered a quick goodbye, and turned to disappear down the corridor.

She continued down the corridor, her pace steady, thoughts already elsewhere.

His words trailed behind her, structured in a way her mind refused to let go of. The logic nested itself in her thoughts, unfolding layer by layer the further she walked.

Vance had a habit of being right.

But that would have to wait.

If she didn’t take control of the Stampede investigation soon, he’d disappear for good—no matter how high they raised his bounty.

So it was a good thing she’d already taken the matter into her own hands.

When she reached her office, Chronica found one of her junior aides—Kaelin, a sharp-eyed Independent who had barely entered her twenties a few years ago—already inside, standing beside the console.

"Do you have the report on the Stryfe woman?" Chronica asked, already stepping behind her desk.

Kaelin nodded. "Yes, ma’am. As you predicted, the vigilance in her quadrant has dropped off noticeably since the Hopeland sighting."

She tapped the console, displaying a map. "The red dots are Terran Corps patrols. As you can see, their presence has decreased by nearly fifty percent in the last week."

Exactly what Chronica had feared.

Ever since she’d interrogated her, Chronica hadn’t underestimated the woman’s importance. Several accounts placed her close to Vash, and after hearing how passionately she defended him, it had been clear they shared a bond. Sooner or later, he would try to reach her.

"Any strange movements since then? Anything beyond what she might be planning with Miss Thompson?"

"Not really. Miss Thompson’s been visiting her family the last few weeks, so Stryfe’s routine hasn’t changed much. However—"

Chronica looked up. "However?"

"Before the Hopeland incident, there was something odd at a nearby café. One man confronted two of our soldiers. First of all, he didn’t have any ID. Then, our Plant energy scanners picked up a strange reading from him—one typically associated with a low-level resonance. It wasn’t enough to confirm anything, but it was unusual. Before the soldiers could press further, he slipped away. The whole thing was dismissed as another false positive; humans who work closely with our sisters sometimes trigger those, and there are still people who refuse to carry the mandatory IDs. He hasn’t been seen near Miss Stryfe’s premises either, but I thought you should know."

Chronica pressed her fingers to her lips in thought. She knew the Terran Corps understood their assignment well enough. They knocked on Stryfe’s door regularly—sometimes in response to actual reports, but just as often as part of a psychological tactic. Keep her guessing, unsettled, aware that eyes were always on her. That part had been Chronica’s idea. She never expected Stryfe to turn Vash in, but it might make her think twice before helping him.

The goal wasn’t to catch him through her. It was to deny him shelter long enough to wear him down—until he had no option left but to turn himself in to Terran authorities.

"It could be nothing, but we'd be reckless not to follow up on that incident," she said. "If the patrols aren’t doing their job, we’ll do it ourselves. Are the CCTV systems in November up and running yet?"

"They’re only set up on the main streets for now. Since it’s still a pilot program and locals don’t realize the cameras are active, it’s sparked ongoing debate about privacy. We’ll need an order to access the footage."

"Submit the request. I want to know exactly what’s been happening in Miss Stryfe’s neighborhood."

Kaelin nodded and turned back to the console, beginning to draft the request. As Chronica settled at her own terminal, Kaelin hesitated, glancing once more at her superior. The order would likely be approved within a few hours—and she knew exactly what it would show. Mr. Vance had already told her Vash was in the area.

It was a good thing she had warned him in advance that Chronica had started digging into Meryl Stryfe. Not sharing what she’d found would’ve been a risk—but relaying what Chronica was planning? That was something else entirely. It wasn’t protocol, and it definitely wasn’t encouraged—but what was 'right' didn’t always line up with what was legal. Not in her eyes. And certainly not when it meant harassing one of her brothers. Vance and his circle understood that too well. She only hoped he’d be able to warn Stryfe about what was inevitably coming.

Once, Meryl had read a quote that said, “Love is friendship set on fire.” At the time, she hadn’t thought much of it—nothing but another poetic line people liked to repeat. But looking back, it made more sense than she’d realized.

Romantic love had never struck her as something that simply happened. She’d never understood how people could fall so fast. That kind of love seemed terrifying—like stepping off a ledge without knowing if you’d land or shatter. One moment you were fine, and the next, you’d handed someone the power to break you.

So friendship first always made more sense. If she ever fell in love, she used to think, it would probably happen gradually—through trust, familiarity, and the comfort of liking someone’s presence. She was cautious by nature, and this version of love seemed safer—an arrangement she could step away from if it ever felt too risky.

What she didn’t realize then was that she’d already been tracing the outline of her own future—though not in the way she thought.

Her friendship with Vash had, over time, ignited into something deeper. It had reshaped itself little by little, until one day she looked up and realized the foundation had already changed. 

Case in point: he was in her bed right now. Not because they had to share, or out of necessity. They weren’t out in the wild anymore, or stuck in some half-broken inn. They were here, in her home. And it had been her idea.

They hadn’t jumped into anything. For two people who hadn’t even kissed, anything beyond platonic would’ve been a massive leap. This was something else—uncomplicated on the surface, but emotionally tangled beneath.

It had started when they returned to her apartment after the night at La Mansion. She arrived first, dropped her bag, kicked off her shoes, and turned on a single lamp in the corner. Maybe five minutes later, she heard the familiar creak of her kitchen window sliding open.

Vash stepped inside the way he always did when trying not to be a bother, even though he knew she didn’t mind.

They exchanged only a few words. Nothing heavy. Nothing new. But Meryl’s mind was already overloaded, and the tension between them was starting to feel too thick to manage. So she called it a night before it turned into something she couldn’t handle.

As she turned toward the hallway, rubbing at her arm, she murmured, “It’s not like I don’t want to be around you. It’s just that—”

"I understand," he’d cut in with a small smile. He looked lighter—but more grounded this time, not like the forced cheer she’d seen so often in the past few days. "It’s been an emotional night, so I get it if you need space to think. I do too. Don’t worry. Things won’t be weird in the morning."

Relief washed through her. She loved how easily he could read her—how gently he moved around her misgivings without making them feel like a burden.

So after exchanging a quick goodbye, she’d gone to bed. As she slipped under the covers, she couldn't help but feel grateful that the world between them didn’t seem to have collapsed the way she’d feared. Of course it wouldn't be easy, but neither she nor he was running in the opposite direction.

Eventually, the living room light clicked off. The hush of the apartment settled around her, and sleep began to tug at the edges—until the soft rustle of movement broke through the stillness. A breath, sharp and uneven. Vash was tossing and turning again on the couch.

Meryl had hoped he might sleep better that night. He’d finally opened up, and that kind of honesty had to be draining. But grief didn’t vanish because it had been named. The sound of him shifting restlessly on the couch was proof enough. Whatever he carried—it was still with him.

She’d heard him like this before. And most of the time, she hadn’t done much. Not because she didn’t care, but because it never felt like her place. He hadn’t asked, and she didn’t want to cross a boundary he hadn’t invited her through.

Until now, she’d done what she could around the edges to ease his insomnia. Wandering into the kitchen under the excuse of needing water. Offering him tea. Sitting beside him and talking about nothing at all. Sometimes it helped. Sometimes it didn’t. But it had always felt like the safest way to show she cared—without overstepping.

Tonight, none of those options felt like enough.

She sat up, pulled the covers aside. It wasn’t a grand plan—more like a conclusion she reached on instinct. Practically speaking, sleeping in a real bed might help his insomnia. And emotionally? Maybe the closeness would too. He’d already said her presence brought him some peace. So why not offer more of that?

Letting the impulsive part of herself take the lead for once, she stepped out of the room barefoot. Watching him suffer in silence had never felt right—but now, it felt unbearable. They’d almost kissed a few hours ago. Surely that gave her permission to cross the line a little more.

He was sprawled on the couch, arms folded awkwardly, trying to find comfort that wouldn’t come. His eyes flicked up the moment he sensed her presence.

“Hey,” she murmured, leaning her arms on the back of the couch.

Vash turned his head slightly, eyes already open. “Can’t sleep,” he said with a crooked half-smile. “Shocking, I know.”

“Yeah, well…” she shrugged. “I was sleeping. Then I heard you flailing around out here.”

“Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t. Not really.” Her voice softened. “Just… hard to ignore.”

She shifted her weight, glancing at him. “That couch still sucks, by the way.”

His brow arched. 

“And you’re way too tall for it. That thing’s basically a punishment.”

Meryl straightened, cleared her throat—more out of nerves than necessity.

“There’s a perfectly decent bed in my room we can share,” she said, then rushed to add, “Just to sleep! I figured you might want to, I don’t know… lie somewhere that doesn’t try to fold you in half.”

Vash blinked. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want that—her bed, her company—even platonically. But that wasn’t what caught him off guard.

It was that Meryl had said it. Out loud. No backpedaling. No sarcasm.

Meryl, who usually kept her feelings under lock and key, had dropped the pretense. She’d admitted, in her own way, that this felt right. The kind of closeness you want—with someone you love, even if the word hasn’t been said.

She glanced at the couch, fingers trailing along the fraying armrest. “If it makes you uncomfortable, we can switch. I’ll take this thing.”

He stood before she could say more. “If you’re sure,” he said, voice quiet but sure. “The bed sounds nice.”

Her heart gave a sharp thud in response. She gave a small, almost sheepish shrug. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

So that’s how they ended up spending the night together—though not for the reasons anyone might assume. True to her word, there hadn’t been any funny business. The bed was big enough for both of them to keep to their sides, and even though they shared the same covers, there was no need to touch unless they wanted to.

They lay there in silence at first. Meryl stared at the ceiling, counting the faint flickers of headlights drifting in from the street outside. Sleep wasn’t coming—her mind was too high-wired for that. Getting antsy, she turned to her side.

Vash was already facing her, eyes wide open.

Moonlight slipped through the blinds and lit the sharp lines of his face—cheekbones, lashes, the gentle calm in his ocean-colored eyes. Even now, he looked absurdly beautiful. 

“I know this is random,” she said quietly, “but can I ask you something?”

His expression shifted, amused. “Sure. Shoot.”

“What does it feel like?” she asked. “Knowing you don’t have much Plant energy left. That you might actually age now?”

He exhaled slowly, his eyes flicking toward the ceiling before returning to her.

“Honestly? I’m kind of excited about it.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Living forever sounds great until it’s not. It gets lonely. Sad. I like the idea of going through time with the people I care about. At the same pace. And I’m curious—” he gave her a lopsided smile, “—to see how dashing I’ll look in my thirties.”

“You’re such a weirdo.”

“I’ve been told.”

They looked at each other a moment longer than necessary. Vash reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, knuckles grazing her cheek. Meryl didn’t flinch. If anything, she leaned into the moment and let her fingers find his hand, toying with it like she’d been meaning to for weeks but hadn’t let herself until now.

Letting herself touch him like this felt easy now. Natural, in the way that made her stomach twist with relief. 

Then, like a switch flipped, Vash lit up—his face cracking into a grin too wide to be contained.

“So… since we’re doing this,” he said, voice warm with mischief, “can I ask you something too?”

That earned him an eye roll, but she didn’t pull her hand away. “Go on.”

“Did you always want to work in insurance?”

Meryl blinked. “Out of all the questions in the universe, you go with that?”

“What? I’ve genuinely wondered!” He chuckled. “You’ve got the paperwork vibe… but then you pull out a gun and it’s like—bam—bounty hunter energy.”

“No,” she said, laughing softly. “I never dreamed of filling out claim forms. It was a job. I’m good with words, with systems. I needed something stable.”

He nodded like that made perfect sense, even if he couldn’t relate. “Still feels like a weird match.”

“Worked out in the end. I mean… it led me to you, didn’t it?”

He looked at her for a moment, his thumb brushing gently over her knuckles. “Yeah. It did.”

From there, the questions kept coming. One led to another—none of them deep, but each one meaningful. They were the kinds of things they'd never had the time—or maybe the courage—to ask before. And yet here they were, shaping each other in the dark, one small detail at a time.

At some point, as Meryl answered a question about her favorite color (blue, obviously), her words began to slur. It was nearly 3 a.m., after all.

“You’re fading,” Vash murmured.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, eyes half-lidded.

“You’re not. And you have to work in a few hours.”

“Maybe. But you’re the one who never sleeps.”

He gave a quiet laugh. “Still. Let yourself rest.”

No protest came—only a small movement as she inched closer, resting her forehead lightly against his chest. “Only if you do too.”

A soft chuckle escaped him. “Deal.”

Feeling bold, he adjusted his position, curling around her. One arm slid over her waist, drawing her in until there was no space left between them. Her head tucked under his chin, and her fingers stayed lightly tangled in his.

They drifted off like that—Meryl curled into him, their hands still gently clasped between them. Their breaths aligned, slow and even. The kind of sleep that only comes when your body finally believes it’s safe.

The room held still. Peaceful, for once.

Until a soft beep shattered the early morning calm.

Vash’s eyes snapped open. The world came rushing back in all at once. Instinct moved before thought—he scanned the room, checking on Meryl, unsure if she’d heard it too.

She was already gone.

The space beside him was empty, blanket tossed aside. In the next second, he spotted her silhouette disappearing down the hallway. He sat up, confused, heart starting to race.

Before she crossed the threshold, he caught her expression in the dim light.

And that was when he knew.

She looked stricken. Not surprised— prepared . Like she’d been waiting for this. Like it was worse than she’d feared.

He threw off the blanket and followed, barefoot against the cool floor. When he caught sight of her, standing in front of the comm unit with her back to him. Her posture was tense. Her head tilted forward, her hand hovering uncertainly over the monitor.

“Damn it. Damn it. Damn it,” she muttered, low and strained, as if sheer repetition might undo whatever message she’d just received.

Vash stepped closer, but the moment his foot scuffed the floor, she turned—fast. Her face was pale, eyes wide.

“They know you’re here.”

Her gaze locked onto his like she needed him to believe it before she had to explain more.

 “You have to go. Now . Somehow they got a search warrant.”

He didn’t need details. She’d already told him about the comm —how it connected to her small network, her allies, her contact with the Earth-side task force. Whoever had tipped her off must’ve sent a direct warning.

Without another word, he spun around and sprinted down the hallway. His duffel bag was still by the closet—he snatched it up on the way to the bedroom, already pulling off his pajama shirt as he moved.

In seconds, he was dressed, moving on autopilot. Years of practice had carved these moments into muscle memory. He’d done this too many times to waste time thinking.

When he came back to the living room, he dropped to one knee by the couch, shoving things into his bag quickly, efficiently. Rations, tools, anything useful. He slung it over one shoulder and reached for his boots, still calculating the best way out. The window was the best bet—the front door was too exposed.

Then he looked at Meryl.

She hadn’t moved.

Still rooted in place by the comm unit, her eyes locked on the screen. Fingers suspended mid-keystroke as she was still working on that thing, surely trying to get more info from her contact.

“Mer!” he called out, alarm threading through his voice. “We have to go. You said they know I’m here. You don’t know when. That means we don’t have time.”

For a second, she didn’t respond. Her brows drew together—not in fear, but in confusion. Like she couldn’t understand why he was talking to her like she was part of the escape plan.

Soon enough, a flicker of realization crossed his face. She wasn’t moving because she was not coming.

“Are you crazy?!” he snapped, striding toward her. “You can’t be here when they swarm this place.”

“Vash, I already told you—they can’t arrest me,” she said, her voice steady in a way that only made it worse. “A search warrant was always on the table. Gunsmoke’s council said they’d approve it under the right conditions. And now they are. So you have to go. We’ll meet in one week, just outside New Miami—like we planned.”

“We’re losing time!” he insisted, rubbing his face in frustration. “Why are you so stubborn about this?!”

“No— you’re the one who is being stubborn and losing time!” she shot back. “Don’t you get it? You know how to sneak out. You’ve done this your whole life. But if I come with you, you’ll have to protect me—and that’ll slow you down.”

She stood up from the desk and stepped closer, eyes fierce and unflinching.

“And worse? If I run, I confirm everything. That I’ve been helping you. And then the whole operation— everything we’ve set up—it crumbles. But if I stay, I can deny it. I can stall. I can keep the pressure off you long enough to do what we need to do.”

Vash opened his mouth, but nothing came. He wanted to yell at her— really yell—like he had before the Fifth Moon incident.

She was so infuriating .

Screw the broadcast. Screw the Earth forces. Screw all her delicate strategy.

It was a good plan—he knew that.

But in his head, every version of this ended the same way: with her getting hurt.

And no plan was worth that.

Vash’s jaw clenched. He was already storming toward her, ready to drag her out by the wrist if he had to. His fingers twitched at his side, half a second from grabbing her arm until he saw her face.

Meryl was losing her cool too. She looked like she was barely holding it together. Her shoulders were tight, lips pressed too hard to hide the tremble underneath.

“I’m not a fan of being left behind again,” she said suddenly, a nervous laugh slipping out before she could stop it. “It’s always the same. I hate it, but it’s the only way this works. I…”

Her breath caught. She wasn’t looking at him anymore—like it hurt too much to see his face.

“I beg you… trust in me this time. And just—promise we’ll see each other again. Like last time. Okay?”

That word— promise —hit him hard.

They’d said goodbye more times than he wanted to count. Once with what could only be called a fistbump kiss. And then the last time—when he’d promised to come back even though they both knew he probably wouldn’t. He’d made her wait, maybe forever, on a chance that had felt almost impossible.

It had been uncharacteristically selfish. But love could be like that too.

Knowing she’d be waiting for him had kept him going. Had helped him fight.

She wasn’t just asking him to trust her—which, of course, he did. She was asking him to say it again: that he’d come back. That they’d see each other again.

But this time, it wasn’t like all the times before. Their relationship had changed—grown deeper with each step, each risk, each goodbye. And now, she needed more. She needed him to show her, clearly, how committed he was to finding his way back to her.

His body moved before his thoughts did. He closed the distance—fast, thoughtlessly—one hand finding her cheek, the other steadying her shoulder, and kissed her. Meryl froze at first, surprised. But then her hands moved—gripping his shirt, pulling him closer, like she’d been waiting for this too. Her breath hitched, lips parting against his, and for a second, the world fell away.

It wasn’t the way either of them had imagined it would happen. It wasn’t soft or slow, or some romantic perfect moment. It was brief, edged with urgency, and cut short by the ticking clock—but it had been a long time coming. And in that compressed instant, it held everything they hadn’t said.

When they finally pulled apart, Vash looked at her with an expression that could only be described as adoring.

“I promise you something better,” he said. his thumb traced the edge of her jaw.  “This is the last time I leave you behind. Okay? Please be safe. I see you next week ”

Without another word, he stepped back, turned toward the kitchen window, and with one last glance—he was gone.

Meryl stood there, motionless. Her lips tingled faintly from the kiss, and her mind struggled to catch up to everything that had happened. She didn’t know how long she stayed like that—seconds, maybe longer—but eventually her body remembered what came next.

She moved.

Almost mechanically, she checked the apartment for any trace of him—pillows, footprints, the faintest mark that might raise suspicion. Once satisfied, she headed to her bedroom and changed clothes, pulling on the outfit she usually wore for her shifts. 

She was zipping up her jacket when the knock came.

This time, it was sharper. More commanding.

They weren’t playing anymore.

“Miss Stryfe. Terran Corps. Open up.”

She flinched, but only for a second.

The fear didn’t linger this time. She could do this. She would play dumb. Act annoyed. Pretend she’d just rolled out of bed and had no idea what they were talking about—no matter how much evidence they had against her.

She could do it—for him.

And with that, she walked to the door.

Chapter Text

Meryl sat in the stiff wooden chair, elbows on the table, legs crossed like she was just waiting for a delayed appointment—not being held without charges in the sheriff’s closed-down office.

Time had gone slippery. Hours might’ve passed. Maybe a day. Maybe more. Her stomach had stopped grumbling at some point, too tired to bother. Her limbs ached, her eyes burned, and every cell in her body was done.

They’d let her use the bathroom once. Given her a paper cup of water, maybe twice. 

She’d asked to leave—countless times, in fact. Each time, the response came wrapped in lazy excuses or flat-out silence.

This legal limbo was grating on her nerves. She wasn’t under arrest, but she sure as hell wasn’t free to leave, either. The one time she made a move to stand—when the sheriff came in to check on her for the third time—his hand drifted toward his gun. Subtle, but clear enough: think twice before doing something stupid. Without her derringers to even the odds, that’s exactly what she did. She’d let them take her without a fight to avoid conflict in the first place. Starting a brawl would defeat the entire point of letting Vash go—to protect the plan. To protect him.

The door creaked open, and she flinched before she could stop herself.

Two men stepped inside—the sheriff, and someone else. A Terran soldier. He gave her a smug once-over, like he was checking to see if they’d worn her down enough. Judging by the look on his face, her current state met his expectations.

Without a word, he moved to the far corner of the room, helmet tucked neatly under one arm. Three stars gleamed on his shoulder, polished to perfection.

Which meant this wasn’t routine. This wasn’t a quick check-in or some bureaucratic mishap. This was deliberate. Coordinated. And absolutely illegal.

Technically, the whole setup violated half a dozen Terran-Gunsmoke accords on civilian processing—but who cared? They wanted Vash. The sheriff didn’t have the spine to push back, and she had no badge, no protection, no one to escalate to. From where she sat, it looked a hell of a lot like one of those “do it now, apologize later” operations. Even if she screamed rights violations from the rooftops, it wouldn’t matter. They’d get what they wanted and sweep the rest under the rug.

She’d definitely underestimated how deep Earth’s influence ran these days. 

The sheriff took his seat across from her, wearing that special blend of concern and condescension that made her want to punch through drywall.

For a long moment, he looked at her. Then, finally, he spoke.

“Are you aware this isn’t looking good for you, Miss Stryfe?”

“Gee, really? Thanks for the update,” she replied, her voice bone-dry. “Are you aware this detention is illegal? Because I’ve brought that up—multiple times—but you seem pretty committed to ignoring it.”

Her defiance was still intact, sharpened by the same instinct that always kicked in when things weren’t fair. But under the table, her hands were clenched and damp. Her pulse hadn’t really settled since they dragged her in.

This time, there hadn’t been a polite knock. They broke down the door before she even had a chance to reach it. Terran officers stormed her apartment like it was a battlefield, blocking her path, barking orders, overturning everything. She barely had a second to react, let alone intervene. They moved like she was already guilty. And just to top it off, they took her comm.

Small relief that the messages wiped automatically after a few minutes. The only relief, really. Everything else felt like freefall. She was going in blind—and whatever this was, it was escalating by the second.

Without bothering to reply to her, the sheriff started to bring up a few vague reports—a possible sighting, some noise about the restaurant incident when Vash first showed up in November City. Nothing concrete.

It was clear they weren’t showing all their cards yet. If this file was all they had, she wouldn’t still be here.

Her eyes flicked to the Terran. Come on, you asshole. Get to it already. She didn’t say it, but the thought hissed loud in her head.

It was only a matter of time before he stepped in.

Right on cue, once the sheriff finished, the man moved—smooth, unhurried, like this was just another box to check on his daily list of intimidations.

“Captain Pike,” he said, voice flat and impersonal, almost bored. He laid a slim folder in front of her, opened it with care that felt more for show than necessity.

“What can you tell me about this?”

He tapped the page once, then looked up.

Inside were a series of blurry, zoomed-in images—clearly taken from long-range surveillance. She recognized herself in the market, sometimes alone, sometimes with a tall, dark-haired figure lingering far enough behind to avoid clear identification. He was never fully visible, never close enough to be obvious, but always unmistakably present in the background.

Even through the grainy static, she couldn’t deny who it looked like.

Her stomach dropped. Her mind kicked into overdrive—guilt and frustration stacking fast. It had been Vash’s plan to leave the apartment, sure. But she’d agreed. She’d gone along with it, knowing the risk.

A few days ago, he’d called her amazing. Admired her strategy. Praised the plan she’d made to keep the peace and help him step into this next phase of his life. Meryl had felt proud. Despite what he liked to say, she rarely believed she brought much to the table. He was Vash—larger than life, otherworldly, forged in battles she could barely comprehend.

But now? The moment called for something different. He needed a more grounded, nuanced approach to guide him. She’d thought—maybe—she could be the one to offer that. That this time, finally, her brain could be the wildcard he needed to move forward.

Clearly, she’d been wrong.

She’d let her emotions cloud her judgment, and now she was paying for it.

That thought cut through the fog like a slap. If emotion was the problem, then clarity had to be the answer. She drew in a slow breath. Then another.

Her eyes dropped back to the photos, scanning them with new purpose. She glanced toward the rest of the table, looking for more folders, more leverage— more anything .

Nothing.

This was it? This was their big move?

If this was their trump card, it was laughably weak. Were they seriously banking on a confession? It wouldn’t surprise her. People always underestimated her when it counted. Maybe they thought if they leaned on her long enough, she’d fold.

That thought lit something up in her—cool, sharp, familiar. If she played this right, she might still buy time. Enough to cover for Vash. At least for now.

“What I see,” she said, “is a grainy photo of some guy walking behind me.”

“A man who matches the description of Vash the Stampede,” Pike replied. “A wanted fugitive you’re known to have ties with.”

“Or,” she shot back, “a random guy who hit on me at the bar. Didn’t even know my name until he bought me a drink. Ask my coworkers—they were there. He wasn’t exactly discreet.”

“Miss Stryfe, are you seriously telling me you just happened to casually meet someone who looks exactly like Vash?”

“Not exactly.” She shrugged. “I admit I have a type. But he wasn’t identical. Honestly? Looking at this now, I think he was just a creep who followed me around before working up the nerve to talk—though, despite that, he was better looking than Vash.”

Captain Pike moved in closer, frustration flickering across his face. He’d probably expected her to be crying by now.

“It could be that,” he said, voice low. “Or it could be you’re lying. Could be Vash the Stampede.”

“Well, there’s no way for you to know that for sure,” she said evenly, tapping the blurry image with one finger. “Not with the evidence you’ve got here.”

She leaned back in her chair, enough to make it clear she wasn’t rattled.

“You can keep me here as long as you want,” she said coolly, “but you’re not getting anything more than this. Sooner or later, someone’s going to notice I’m missing. This won’t hold”.

That seemed to amuse him. A slow grin spread across his face, like he finally had leverage—like he thought he’d found the crack in her defense.

“Sure about that?” he said, a little too pleased with himself. “Because I don’t see anyone advocating for you right now. Especially not Vash the Stampede.”

He let the name linger, watching her for a reaction.

“If he’s not dead in a ditch—and that guy in the photo definitely isn’t him—then maybe he doesn’t care.”

The smile widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“That’s the pathetic part, really. Covering for someone who couldn’t be bothered. He left you to rot, and you’re still making excuses for him?”

The words hit harder than she wanted to admit.

She wasn’t alone. She knew that.

Livio, Luida, Mr. Vance—she had people in her corner. And Milly would be back soon from visiting home; the second she saw the wrecked apartment and realized Meryl was missing, she’d raise hell.

Vash might’ve disappeared again, but if he knew where she was, he wouldn’t hesitate. He’d come for her. He’d done it before—more than once.

But even now, with that belief still holding, there was a sting she couldn’t shake. His absences—always justified—had always hurt. And sometimes, against her better judgment, they left her feeling like her devotion was a one-way street.

That’s not fair, she caught herself thinking. Not after everything. Not after the way we parted last time. This time, he hadn’t wanted to leave. He’d made that clear. He had even kissed her.

So why was she doubting him now?

The answer settled in her chest like a weight: exhaustion. The creeping kind that dragged her body down and muddied everything else, too. Her edges felt dull. Her focus, blurred. And beneath it all, her own insecurities were digging deep.

In that state, she blanked—long enough for no sharp retort to rise, no quick deflection to come.

The silence stretched, and the officer’s grin grew with every breath.

This was bad.

Then, somewhere beyond the door, a voice rang out—raised, impatient, impossible to mistake.

Milly.

There was a rush of movement in the hall, something heavy-footed and determined, followed by startled murmurs trying to rein her in. It didn’t work.

“I don’t care what protocol says—where is she?”

Someone tried to talk her down, but Milly’s voice only grew louder, more indignant.

“You broke down her door and dragged her here without telling anyone! You think I wouldn’t find out? This is illegal, and I will tell everyone.”

A brief pause. A metal click followed.

“If you don’t let her go now, I will use my stun gun. You’ve been warned.”

Something in Meryl’s chest cracked open. A laugh rose to her throat. Leave it to Milly to bring a storm to the sheriff’s office and still sound like she was being reasonable.

God, she loved that woman.

“Seems like I’m not so alone after all,” Meryl said, rising to her feet. “So if you’ll excuse me, I think it’s best for everyone here if you let me walk out that door.”

Pike muttered something under his breath. The sheriff followed with a vague assurance that they could handle Milly if they needed to.

Meryl didn’t buy it.

They wouldn’t touch her. Not unless they were ready to light a spark none of them could control. A Terran Corps officer and a local sheriff laying hands on a female civilian was already a PR nightmare waiting to happen—but two women? That was a different beast. One person, they could spin. Two looked  a lot more like a pattern. Like a liability.

Meryl took the gamble. She stepped through the door before the sheriff or Pike could find the nerve to stop her. She didn’t look back.

Outside, the air was thick with tension. A handful of officers lingered near the entryway, hands hovering close to their belts—but no one moved. All of them kept their eyes on the tall girl posted by the door, stun gun still raised and very much ready to use it.

Why didn’t they shoot? Meryl would probably never know. But her best guess? They didn’t think Milly was crazy enough to show up alone. Maybe they were still running the odds—wondering if backup was about to come barreling through the wall. Someone like one of those freakishly strong allies Vash the Stampede always seemed to collect.

At this point it didn’t matter. Her eyes met Milly’s—wide with relief that she was okay, but burning with fury at the state she was in.

She wanted to hug her right then and there. Say thank you, a dozen different ways. But there wasn’t time. The best thing they could do now was get out before anyone came to their senses

They didn’t speak as they moved, only the sound of their boots scuffing the dirt. Outside, the night air hit her face like a slap—but what stopped her in her tracks wasn’t the cold, or even the slow realization that she might’ve been held for a full day.

A van was parked at the curb.

And behind the wheel, grinning like he’d been waiting for a bar fight all morning, sat Livio.

“Why so surprised, ma’am?” he said, tipping his hat. “Miss Milly thought you might need some help and told me to come by.”

“Weren’t you posing as Vash back in Hopeland?” Meryl asked, a tired smile tugging at her lips as she climbed into the back seat. She glanced out the rear window—some officers were finally spilling out of the sheriff’s office, reacting way too late to Milly’s entrance.

“Oh yeah. Miss Melanie’s real good at sewing—she made me Vash’s stupid coat. Easy enough—anyone can throw that on me and pass it off.” He chuckled as he started the engine, shifting in his seat. “But since I had to be here, the kids came up with the idea to tie a scarecrow to a tomas. Should keep things looking convincing for a while... but that’s a story for another time.”

He glanced toward the passenger seat as Milly slid in next to Meryl. His new best friend probably wanted to catch up with Vash’s girl, so he left them to it, and drove off.

The moment the van pulled away from the curb, Milly launched sideways and wrapped her arms around Meryl like she hadn’t seen her in years.

“Senpai! I was so scared! I went to see you and everything was a mess. I thought something really bad happened—some neighbors said you’d been taken by the Terran Corps.”

“Oh, Milly…” Meryl’s voice cracked a little as she held on tight. “For a second there, I thought I was done for. You have no idea how happy I am to see you both.”

Once they’d put some distance between themselves and the sheriff’s office, Meryl started filling them in—leaving out, of course, the smaller, more personal details. She told them what had happened after the raid: the interrogation, the photos, the way things had escalated. She explained how Vash had been forced to run, and how he was now waiting for them in New Miami—in one week.

She didn’t try to spin it. She owned the parts she’d gotten wrong—agreeing to Vash’s plan to step outside, assuming her own strategy was airtight, underestimating just how much control Earth really had over Gunsmoke. Her instincts had been off, plain and simple—clouded by things she hadn’t wanted to admit, even to herself.

“And now,” she finished with a tired sigh, “we’re basically fugitives. And it’s all on me.”

Milly didn’t respond right away. She wasn’t bear-hugging her anymore, but she leaned in and wrapped an arm around her, pulling Meryl into her side like she’d done a hundred times before when she looked like she might give up.

“You didn’t force anyone to help you, Senpai,” she said gently. “We’re all here because we want to be. Consequences be damned. That’s because we believe in you—and in the way you lead. Things don’t always go as planned, but when they don’t, we’re here to help you through it.”

Giving Meryl a  little squeeze, she added, more brightly, “And hey! Not everything’s lost. We picked up all our stuff on the way—it’s in the van now. The cameras, the mics—none of it got confiscated, since you didn’t have it with you. We’ve still got everything we need.”

Livio chimed in from the driver’s seat, a big grin on his face. “Miss Milly’s right. And that bit about you being irresponsible for going out with Vash? That’s silly. He would've left the apartment anyway—and probably dragged you with him, kicking and screaming if he had to. You just made it a little less suspicious.”

Meryl doubted that would’ve been the case—Vash was never like that with her. And if he had tried, she would’ve punched him, plain and simple. But Livio’s reasoning was so earnest, so completely him, that she couldn’t help but laugh. That, along with Milly’s words, made her feel lighter.

Captain Pike had been wrong. Vash might be far away right now, but in a way, he wasn’t. And even if he was, she still had people—people who cared, who believed in her, who showed up when it counted.

She was too far into this to stop now. So she’d do what she always did: pull herself together and keep going.

“You’re right. This isn’t the time for self-defeat,” she said, straightening in her seat, feeling stronger with every passing second. “So, let’s get to work. We’ve got one week to make our grand entrance in New Miami, and I want that needle-noggin so shocked he drops his damn glass.”

Livio smiled at her through the rearview mirror.

“Now that’s the Short Girl I know.”

Milly beamed and clapped her hands. “Ooooh, it’s gonna be so dramatic!”

As the van sped across the desert, the tension of the last few hours finally began to lift—and for the first time in what felt like forever, Meryl found herself smiling again.

They’d get through this.

They always did.

Despite what most people believed, Chronica did not lack emotion. She could feel happiness, curiosity, anger, and sadness like anyone else. She simply knew how to conceal them better than the rest—had done so for as long as she could remember.

It wasn’t a flaw. That composed, logical restraint had carried her far within the Independent ranks.

On rare occasions, though—particularly when someone defied her orders or made a critical misstep—her facade slipped. Not enough to unravel her control, but enough to unsettle those around her.

Kaelin, her assistant, had clearly noticed this time. She stood stiff and quiet now, hands clasped in front of her, eyes flicking between Chronica’s face and the floor.

Chronica wasn’t angry with her, even if Kaelin clearly thought she was. She did want someone’s head, though—and that someone was Colonel Morris.

“I never said to detain that Stryfe woman,” she said, rising from her seat. “I wanted Vash— if he was hiding in her apartment. Does that man even realize what it would cause if word gets out we’re detaining Gunsmoke citizens?”

Kaelin opened her mouth to reply, but before she could speak, Chronica was already moving—slipping out of her office quarters.

She’d known Morris might catch wind of her operation; he was in charge of the Corps, after all. But she hadn’t expected him to intervene beyond signing a few forms and calling in the usual favors.

According to Kaelin’s report, that woman had been illegally detained almost an entire day —only released after her friends showed up and threatened to use force. Now she and her crew had fled November, and no one knew where they’d gone. With them off the grid, there was no telling what they were planning next.

That bastard had ruined everything. 

Was he truly that stupid—or was this a power play meant to remind her where the chain of command really ended?

“Don’t underestimate him,” Mr. Vance had warned her. 

She hated when her pride clouded her judgment like that. She should’ve listened.

Without slowing her pace, Chronica stepped into the elevator without a word. Her reflection in the polished metal walls stared back—calm expression, perfect posture—but her mind was already several steps ahead. When the doors slid open on the executive level, she walked briskly down the corridor, heels clicking with sharp, deliberate rhythm. A junior assistant at Morris’ door glanced up, startled.

“Ma’am—do you have an appointment?”

Chronica didn’t even break stride.

“No.”

She reached for the handle and opened the door without waiting for permission.

“Oh, Miss Chronica,” Morris drawled when he saw her, casually tapping the console to shut off the projected screen beside him. “What brings you here?”

“Colonel Morris,” she said, voice flat, “is it true that you illegally ordered the detention of a Gunsmoke citizen?”

He raised an eyebrow like she’d asked what he’d had for lunch. “By ‘Gunsmoke citizen,’ you mean the Stampede’s little sidekick? Oh, yeah. I did.”

He waved a hand lazily.

“Well—‘arrest’ isn’t exactly the word. I suggested they hold onto her for a bit. See if we could squeeze out some extra info about where her boyfriend ran off to.”

Chronica blinked, stunned not by the action itself—but by how blasé he was being about the whole thing.

“I never authorized that.”

“I know, I know,” he said, standing and strolling toward her like he was speaking to a child who’d gotten too serious. “But like I said—I didn’t order anything either. I thought it’d be a nice gesture. For you.”

He smiled, all fake warmth and self-satisfaction.

“Of course it’s not!” Chronica snapped, her voice sharp with authority. How dare he talk down to her like she was some naive intern?

“I mean, I know your focus is on that Independent,” he went on, as if she hadn’t said a word. “The rest of it? That’s simply background noise for you, right? Let me handle the human issues—you stick to dealing with your... engineered kind. That’s what you’re good at, isn’t it?”

That last line wasn’t just a dig. It was a reveal—of who he really was.

Back when Independents were first discovered, humans had recoiled. At best, they were ignored. At worst, feared. It had taken decades—centuries, even—for society to stop treating them like bombs waiting to go off.

But there were still those who saw them as threats. Or worse—as tools. Artificial constructs with no real place in human affairs. Not alive. Not equal. Just machines in convincing skin.

Morris clearly belonged to that group. It was written all over his words, and in the fact that he’d gone behind her back without hesitation.

The realization made her stomach turn. People like him—once they stripped respect from one kind of being—rarely stopped there. Eventually, the only life they truly valued was their own.

“My focus,” Chronica said, regaining her composure despite the revulsion twisting in her gut, “is maintaining balance across one of our most fragile colonies. What you did could’ve triggered consequences we can’t afford. The last thing we need is a civil war.”

Morris’s expression slipped. His words stayed polite, but the edge in his voice gave him away.

“Are you implying I’m after that, ma’am?” he asked. “Because that’s a serious accusation. And unless you’ve got something solid to back it up, we both know that kind of talk goes against protocol.”

“You’re the one who needs to follow protocol, Colonel.” Chronica cut in “Let this be the last time I hear of you overriding my orders.”

That shut him up—at least for the moment.

As she turned to leave, he shot her a look. It wasn’t smug or calculating—not entirely. It was the kind of look that made her skin crawl. The kind of evil that didn’t come from brilliance, but from stupidity wrapped in self-importance. The kind that didn’t need logic to justify itself—only ego.

“Your wish is my command,” he said finally, his voice syrupy and false as he eased back into his chair—like none of this mattered to him in the slightest.

Chronica didn’t engage. She stepped out of the office without another word.

She needed to find Vash—and his brother—soon. It was the only way to ensure Earth pulled out of Gunsmoke before things unraveled further.

The longer they stayed, the more people like Morris would start to meddle.

And when they did, chaos always followed.

Whether he deserved it or not, Vash was getting a taste of his own medicine now.

He was the one doing the waiting.

Meryl had promised they would reunite in New Miami in a week. That week had come and gone, and she still wasn’t here. He had no way of knowing where she was, or if she was okay— not without risking everything they’d planned.

He trusted her with all his heart, but even so, the eight days since he’d last seen her felt unbearable. The uncertainty was killing him.

But this wasn’t new—not for her.

After the Fifth Moon incident, she waited two years. She did it again when he vanished into the Ark. And once more, for six long months after his final fight with Knives.

There were the smaller disappearances too—those moments when he ran, when he slipped away without warning.

And Meryl… Meryl was there waiting for him.

He never meant to leave people in the dark. Especially not her. But he had. Now, she finally understood how frustrating it could feel.

He owed her a big apology when they met again. 

At least, like her, he wasn’t staying idle during these windows of time. Still, Vash was sure she had handled herself far more gracefully than he was managing now.

To be fair, grace was hard to come by when both the Terran Corps and a pack of bounty hunters were chasing him across the city’s rooftops.

“How do I always end up in the same situation?” he muttered to himself, weaving through market stalls and narrow alleys as both groups closed in from all directions.

Shouts echoed off the walls—sharp orders from the Terran agents, louder and more aggressive than the bounty hunters’ ragged jeers. A shot cracked the air behind him, followed by another, then a whole volley—none of them particularly accurate, but enough to send panic rippling through the crowd.

Civilians scattered in all directions. Vendors abandoned their carts, fruit and scrap parts spilling onto the dusty street as they dove for cover. Someone screamed when a stray bullet shattered a window above them. The sound of boots, gunfire, and people yelling over each other turned the street into pure chaos.

Vash ducked into an abandoned building, dodging debris and sprinting through the hollow shell of what had once been a corner shop. The staircase was crumbling, but still climbable—he took it fast, bounding up the steps as shouts echoed behind him. At the top, he burst through a rusted door and onto the roof.

Seven days. That was the longest he’d managed to keep a low profile—impressive, considering he’d gone back to wearing his signature red duster. He and Meryl had agreed it would be part of the plan when they arrived in New Miami to start stirring the pot a little.

Not that this look always had that effect.

Gunsmoke was full of odd-looking folks—some even more conspicuous than him. For decades, people had been misidentifying strangers as the Humanoid Typhoon, which meant he could usually blend in just fine if he felt like it.

Vash chalked it up to bad luck.

Someone had recognized him— really recognized him—and shouted his name loud enough to turn every head on the street.

That was all it took.

He kept running, boots pounding across rooftop after rooftop, until the edges of the city began to blur. Ahead stretched a wide expanse of desert, all heat shimmer and cracked stone—the northwest limit of New Miami.

“Damn it,” he muttered, grinding to a halt.

He could keep going. Disappear into the sand like he always had. But not this time. Not until he saw Meryl again. However long that took, he wasn’t leaving.

Behind him, the chaos hadn’t let up—shouts, gunfire, footsteps closing in. Going forward wasn’t an option. Turning back wasn’t either.

So he jumped.

The landing was rough. He hit the ground hard—shoulder, ribs, stomach—then slid, face-first, across the dusty road.

He stayed there, groaning into the dirt.

Not exactly his most heroic moment.

Footsteps approached.

Vash cracked one eye open and looked up, silently praying it wasn’t one of his current pursuers.

A pair of white boots stepped into view. Then a flash of familiar legs, a white cape drifting in the breeze, and—

“Meryl!”

He shot up to his knees, grinning before he could stop himself.

There she was.

Arms crossed. Eyebrow raised. Looking at him like the universe had handed her exactly what she’d been waiting for.

They locked eyes.

Vash’s heart nearly burst.

He was covered in dust, bruised, panting—and still, he would’ve stood up and kissed her right then and there a second time. 

And judging by the way her lips twitched—how she fought to keep a smile from breaking through—he was pretty sure she would’ve let him.

But she didn’t move. Not yet.

Instead, her expression remained carefully composed, arms still crossed, mouth pressed into something like disapproval—though her eyes gave her away.

Before he could say anything else, a familiar voice called out.

“Mr. Vaaaash!”

Milly came into view, jogging toward them with a camera slung over one shoulder and the brightest grin on her face.

She gave a quick wave and a breathless, “Hi!” as she approached, already filming. With a small twirling motion of her hand, she gestured for them to go on.

“Vash!” Meryl blurted, striding forward like he hadn’t crash-landed at her feet. “Don’t tell me you forgot the line you gave me back in Octovern! Honestly, sometimes I don’t even believe you…”

She kept talking as she reached into her cape and pulled out a mic, slipping into reporter mode with practiced ease. She was really good at it now—confident, polished, already addressing the camera with a smooth introduction about how they’d be following him around, bringing his story to the world.

It took Vash a few seconds to catch up.

Then it hit him.

This was exactly what they wanted the world to believe: that they hadn’t seen each other in months, and this was nothing more than a silly little news segment.

Even if he hadn’t known better—even if this was the first time they’d laid eyes on each other again—he wouldn’t have believed for a second that they were doing this for exposure or fame.

They had to have a good reason. And luckily, this time, he actually knew what it was.

So, naturally, he played along.

He threw his hands up, feigning frustration, and turned like he was about to run all over again.

Before taking off, though, he made sure to glance back and shoot Meryl a small wink.

There’d be time for the real reunion later.

For now, it was showtime.

She’d better catch up with him and see how her plan played out.

Chapter Text

Six months later

“What do you think, sir, about our new segment on Vash the Stampede?”

The old man looked awkwardly at the camera as the NLBC reporter thrust a microphone toward him. Under different circumstances, the scene would’ve been hilarious—the poor fellow stared like the camera might steal his soul, while a handful of children and their parents waved enthusiastically behind him, trying to get on screen.

“I think it’s great. Everyone used to see him as this menace—and after the war, like he was some kind of intergalactical hero. But really, he’s like everyone else. A bit goofier, even.”

A ripple of agreement went through the crowd.

“He’s so dumb sometimes, but he makes me laugh!” someone called out.

“Why are the Terrans so serious about catching him? He wouldn’t hurt a fly!” another voice chimed in.

“Leave the Humanoid Typhoon alone!” a kid shouted, earning a few scattered cheers.

Then a young woman stepped up closer to the mic, grinning. “I wanna give a shoutout to the woman who follows him around too—Miss Stryfe, right? Finally, we see how girls keep everything in line around here. Also, she explains what’s going on—or else it’d just be noise.”

A few people around her nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, she makes it make sense,” someone added. “She’s the only reason my mom started watching.”

Standing off to the side, Mr. Vance caught the slight twitch in Chronica’s eyebrow.

From what he’d heard from Kaelin, the first time Chronica had seen Vash and his friends appear on a broadcast, she hadn’t reacted at all—not outwardly. But once her office door had shut, the assistant heard the sharp crack of something breaking. Apparently, a desk had to be replaced later that day.

Back on screen, the reporter continued, noting that Vash’s brother was still nowhere to be seen. He explained how Terran corps often preferred to stay in the background, avoiding cameras, and how being taken down on live footage had made bounty hunters increasingly hesitant to pursue him. Vash the Stampede, it seemed, was being left alone more than ever.

“How long will the bounty against him last?” the reporter asked rhetorically. “Only the Terran Forces can say. While many welcome their presence in helping make this world less hostile, there’s a growing sense that a middle ground is needed to truly move forward. Let’s hope our reporting is helping us get there.”

The broadcast then cut to a preview of the next episode. Onscreen, Vash was seen sprinting away from a group of angry thugs, while Meryl Stryfe’s voice narrated how they’d managed to land themselves in trouble—again. There was a quick glimpse of her friend, Milly Thompson, followed by a shot of Livio the Double Fang barreling into the fray.

Despite the chaos, they all looked like they were having a good time.

"That's all for now, thanks," Chronica said to her assistant, signaling for her to stop the footage. She let out a quiet sigh before turning toward Mr. Vance.

She had called him in early that morning without elaborating much on what she wanted to discuss. After watching the broadcast, he had more or less pieced it together—and whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. Especially now, as she dismissed Kaelin with a sharp nod so they could speak privately.

"So," she began, her tone flat, "what do you have to say for yourself?"

The old man glanced at the Independent and decided the best course of action was to shrug, smiling as if they were discussing the weather. There was no point denying it outright—he’d known she had eyes on him since the broadcast started. She probably already suspected he’d been in contact with someone from Ship 3... maybe even with Meryl Stryfe herself.

"If you're asking whether I knew about this," he said casually, "I’d say my contacts might have mentioned a thing or two."

Vance chuckled under his breath. "And if I’m as involved as you say, then maybe the real question is—why aren’t you arresting me?" He met her gaze."This is technically treason. And we both know you’ve got enough proof to bring me in." He tilted his head slightly, almost inviting her. "So why haven’t you?"

For a moment, Chronica said nothing.

Because deep down, she was wondering the same thing.

Weeks ago, she had finally cracked Stryfe’s main comm memory—discovered that the messages hadn't been erased, only encrypted. She’d found everything: the back-channel communications Meryl had maintained with Vance, the pattern of contact stretching back months.

She should have reported it immediately.

But she hadn’t.

Because, truth be told, she respected the man sitting in front of her. Long ago, when she and Domina were children and Vance was much younger, he and his team had been the ones to take care of them—and he had always been kind. While they had grown apart, especially after the war, she still trusted his judgment.

At the very least, she owed him the chance to explain himself.

"I’m not dragging you in because I need answers," she said finally. "Rogue Independents are dangerous, but somehow, the people around him don't hesitate to defend him. You. That human and her friends. The people at Gunsmoke. Why is it that no one else sees the risk?"

Vance smiled, something soft flickering across his face.

It reminded him of when she was young—frustrated whenever she couldn't grasp a concept fast enough.

"Your logic isn't wrong," he said gently. "You're just aiming it at the wrong person. Knives was the one out of control—not Vash."

Probably confusing his patient approach with a patronizing one, her frustration flared.

Who did he think he was, treating her like a little girl again?

"And yet," she snapped, "Vash decided not to neutralize him. He ran with him. That’s not what someone thinking of the greater good would do."

"Maybe his actions don't make sense to you," Vance said, not losing his calm, "but they made sense to him. And whatever happened... Knives hasn’t been seen since. Maybe it got resolved."

"Maybe," Chronica said, her voice rising, "and maybe not. Neither we nor this colony can afford that kind of uncertainty!"

Vance leaned back in his chair, watching her carefully.

"You’ve got a point there," he said. "But if you really want answers... why keep the bounty hanging over his head?" His eyes narrowed slightly. "You know someone like Vash would talk to you—if he actually had the chance."

Chronica’s hands curled into fists at her sides.

"Because he protected someone who killed my sister!" she exclaimed, the words tearing out of her before she could stop them.

Knives had absorbed Domina—so completely that nothing recognizable of her remained. Yes, there had been a small chance, in the moment, to recover her... but Chronica had decided against it.

It didn’t matter that her heart shattered, watching the sister she was closest to die like that. She had been expected to think of everyone else’s best interests—and so she soldered on and kept going.

Vash, on the other hand, hadn’t made that sacrifice. He had protected the very source of all her despair—taking the luxury of choosing family first, instead of the safety of others.

That enraged her to no end—and what enraged her even more was realizing that her feelings were clouding her judgment.

Vance was right: that fool would probably talk to her if given the chance.

The real issue was that she didn’t want to hear any of it. 

Clearing her throat, the Independent recovered her composure and leveled a cold look at the good doctor.

"I'm giving you a way out, as a courtesy," she said. "If I find out you're still collaborating with these people, I’ll make sure you're arrested."

Vance smiled faintly, almost sadly.

"Then I guess I'll have to do my best until you catch me at it again." He gathered his coat. "I'm sorry, Chronica. I know this is the right thing to do."

As he stood, he met her gaze squarely.

"While you're so focused on exacting revenge, the snakes like Morris are still moving. And you're not doing anything to stop them."

Chronica narrowed her eyes.

"Who says I'm not?"

Vance paused at the door, glancing back over his shoulder.

"Perhaps," he said. "But you should be focusing more on that."

When the door clicked shut behind Vance, Chronica was left alone in her office.

The silence pressed in around her, heavier than before.

For a long moment, she stood still, staring at nothing, the weight of old anger and newer doubts colliding inside her. Maybe she wasn’t seeing everything as clearly as she wanted to believe.

With a sharp breath, she forced the thoughts down.There was no time for weakness.

Not now.

Without another word, she sat back at her desk and opened the file that had been waiting for her for months—trying to pretend the tremor in her hands wasn't there.

“Vash…”

He groaned at the sound of his name and buried his face deeper into the inn’s cheap pillow. Now that his insomnia had finally started to ease, getting up in the morning had become a lot harder. A fair trade, he supposed—but still, he liked where he was right now.

“Vash, we’re going to be late…” the voice called again, firmer this time.

He felt the mattress dip as someone sat beside him. The familiar scent of soap and shampoo made him smile, and he finally cracked his eyes open. Seeing Meryl fresh from the shower had become one of his favorite morning sights since they started sharing rooms—and today was no exception. Her damp hair clung to her neck, a towel wrapped around her, and the early morning light cast a soft glow over her, making her seem almost ethereal.

“Hey… morning. What time is it?” he mumbled, voice still thick with sleep.

Meryl rolled her eyes, but she didn’t bother hiding her smile. He was always like this in the mornings—lazy, clingy, and completely unrepentant. Her fingers threaded gently through his black hair, brushing it back.

“It’s almost 9:30. We need to check out by ten unless—”

Before she could finish, Vash grabbed her hand and gave it a playful tug, pulling her off balance and back down into the bed. She let out a soft yelp of surprise that quickly dissolved into laughter as he rolled, shifting to hover over her with that familiar, mischievous grin.

“So what I heard is that we’ve got half an hour left…” he murmured, dipping down to steal a kiss—something she welcomed without hesitation.

It had been six months since they’d hit the road again with the news report project, and honestly, things had gone better than any of them expected. Meryl’s plan, bold as it had been, had worked. The broadcast was a genuine success—enough that even the most skeptical locals and Terrans seemed more interested in tuning in to Vash’s ridiculous stunts than fighting each other. 

According to Mr. Vance, who was still in touch with her, Earth forces had chosen not to intervene and were even considering how to quietly drop the bounty altogether—partly to avoid drawing more attention to him. They couldn’t exactly go after him on live TV without looking like the villains. Vash didn’t mind that the cameras were becoming less necessary; especially not when things with Meryl had progressed the way they had over the past six months. They’d picked up in November City like they hadn’t missed a beat. The separate room charade hadn’t lasted long—especially after it became clear that most of their “private time” didn’t involve just talking. Poor Livio had been relocated more than once, usually with a sheepish apology and a booked room of his own whenever they needed extra space.

Still, if they were honest, getting to this point hadn’t been instant. The inexperience, the nerves, the sheer want—it had all been a bit overwhelming at first.

As Meryl let Vash kiss along her neck, his hand slipping up her thigh while her towel threatened to come completely undone, she figured it was fair to say they were still deep in their honeymoon phase. Or maybe this was how things were going to be from now on. Who knew?

Not that she was complaining. Even the smallest taste of what they had now felt like more than she’d ever expected. They’d tried not to let this new dynamic pull focus from their work—but that had proven easier said than done.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this content.

And judging by the way Vash was kissing her now... it was safe to say he felt the same.

His mouth moved lower, slow and deliberate, leaving a warm trail along her neck before dipping lower.

Meryl let her hands wander up along his back, fingertips tracing the faint ridges of old scars. She could feel the steady warmth of him beneath her palms, could feel the way he leaned into her touch without hesitation.

When he pressed a kiss to her collarbone, lingering just a little longer than before—like he had no intention of stopping anytime soon—she tightened her arms around him, pulling him a little closer.

“Hey, you two lovebirds!” someone called from the hallway, voice muffled through the door but unmistakably annoyed.

It was Livio—and he sounded especially grumpy.

We’re heading down. Don’t blame me if you end up paying for an extra night—check-out’s in a few minutes.”

They heard Milly giggling right after his grumble, and just like that, the spell broke.

Vash sighed against her skin, pressing one last reluctant kiss to her collarbone before gently pushing himself up. He hovered for a moment longer, as if debating whether to listen, then let out a quiet groan and flopped onto his back beside her, throwing an arm over his eyes.

“What’s wrong with him?” he muttered, half-annoyed, half-amused. “What a killjoy.”

Meryl sat back with a smirk, the warmth of his touch still lingering on her skin. She leaned down to press a quick kiss to his hair before standing to grab her clothes.

“He’s right—we will be late,” she said, already slipping into her bra and panties. “But I might know what’s behind the grumpiness.”

“Oh, do tell,” Vash said, finally sliding off the bed himself. “Last night he tried to talk to me, but he ended up rambling about stars and tomatoes. Made no sense.”

“I’ll tell you more later,” Meryl said, pulling on her shirt. “But... it looks like you were right. Someone’s got a crush—and he’s upset he can’t spit it out.”

“I knew it!” Vash said, laughing as he headed for a quick shower.

It hadn’t exactly been a mystery. Vash had picked up on Livio’s massive crush on Milly practically from day one—but the guy had never admitted it. Not out loud, anyway.

Being back on the road had worried him at first. The girls had never traveled with Livio, and Wolfwood wasn’t there. He’d feared it might feel hollow—a sad imitation of older, better times.

But to his surprise, Liv had become an essential part of the team in no time. Moments like this—Livio stumbling through his feelings, Milly being blissfully unaware, and his and Meryl’s new relationship—made everything feel both familiar and entirely new.

They weren’t trying to recreate what they’d lost.

It felt more like they had been given a second chance—to finally experience an adventure without quite so many tears or danger.

They weren’t free from risk; there was still plenty at stake when it came to keeping the fragile peace in Gunsmoke.

As he stepped into the bathroom, Vash caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, still faintly smiling from the way Meryl had kissed him a few minutes earlier.

The difference from six months ago was striking.

When he had first arrived at her apartment, he had looked hollowed out—tired, brittle, worn thin by the aftermath of the war.

Now, the tension around his mouth and eyes had eased. His face looked softer, more alive.

Yet even as he brushed his fingers lightly against the mirror in passing, he knew it wasn’t the whole truth. There was still work to do. Plenty of it.

This newfound happiness had helped him a lot. His insomnia had eased, his appetite had returned, and the constant anxiety that used to cling to him had finally softened. Even Meryl’s melody — once an anchor during his worst nights — now simply filled him with warmth. It wasn't a crutch he leaned on anymore; it was a joy he chose to keep close.

It felt like real progress — a step toward the life he wanted to build.

He had made other important strides too: discussing Knives openly with the girls, sharing difficult conversations with Livio about Wolfwood, letting people into his heart again in ways he hadn’t allowed for years. And yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was still missing.

Talking was good, but it wasn’t enough to carry him all the way to healing.

And what exactly was healing, anyway? Was it no longer feeling conflicted about his brother’s death? Not missing Rem, Wolfwood, or the countless others he’d lost? Not being scared of building real connections with others, knowing they could become new sources of grief if something ever went wrong?

It felt more complicated than that. Healing, whatever it really meant, might not be about moving past the pain at all—but learning how to live alongside it. Maybe it meant making peace with the ugliest parts of himself: the guilt of surviving when so many others hadn’t, the resentment he still carried toward Knives despite everything Rem had asked of him, and the shame of missing his brother even after all that he had done.

Now, with Meryl, a new kind of fear had settled in his chest. Not of betrayal—he knew her better than that. If there was one thing he was certain of, it was that Meryl Stryfe would never hurt anyone on purpose. Especially not him.

What scared him was how loving someone that deeply gave them power over you, even if they didn’t ask for it. Even if they never meant to use it. All it would take was one twist of fate, one heartbeat of bad luck—and she’d be gone, and she'd take a piece of him with her.

It had already happened too many times. And some days, he still wasn’t sure how much of himself was left to give.

The fact that he’d avoided Mesa Probe—despite having had several chances over the past six months—only proved what he already knew. He wasn’t ready. Not yet. That place had scraped him raw. It was where he’d been at his lowest, where grief had warped him into someone he hardly recognized. Someone angry, empty, and desperate. The idea of facing that version of himself again made something in him recoil.

As he stepped into the bathroom, Vash exhaled slowly, letting the rising steam curl around him. He still didn’t know exactly how to move forward. Maybe he never really would—not all the way. Not after everything he’d lived through. But now, for the first time, he felt strong enough to try — not because he owed it to anyone, or because of the promises he had made about getting better.

Those promises still mattered. They always would. But this step — this one — was for himself.

Without thinking, he pressed a hand lightly to his chest, feeling the steady beat beneath his palm. The rhythm inside him wasn’t chaotic anymore. It pulsed low and sure, no longer fighting him like it used to.

He let the moment settle in him, surprised to find that the weight of his decision didn’t feel overwhelming at all.

Turning toward the waiting water, he stepped beneath the spray, letting it wash over him as he got ready for the day ahead.

Somewhere beyond the thin walls, the world was waking up — messy, loud, and full of second chances, and he figured he might as well meet it halfway.

Their last stop before reaching November City had been unusually uneventful for a group like theirs. Meryl had noticed lately that their run-ins with either the Terran Corps or outlaws had become more sporadic. Chronica still hadn’t backed off from trying to catch Vash, but maybe—hopefully—it meant his life was beginning to slow down, and that the broadcast wouldn’t be needed forever.

What would they even do when that day came? She wasn’t sure. But at least now she knew where she stood with Vash. That was more than enough for the moment. She didn’t plan on leaving his side anytime soon—if anything, she didn’t plan on leaving at all. So whatever came next could wait.

Speaking of waiting, neither Vash nor Milly had returned yet from their errands, and the bus to November was due in about twenty minutes. Milly always left things until the last possible moment, so it wasn’t surprising that she’d waited until now to send her routine letters home. The fact that Vash had gone with her was more unexpected. He kept in touch with others, sure, but he usually sent messages as soon as they arrived in a city—just in case they didn’t stay long.

If Meryl had to guess, whatever he was mailing today had been more spur-of-the-moment. 

So now she was here, sitting on a bench near the stop with Livio, waiting for them to come back. Despite her initial misgivings, she’d grown to like the big goof—almost like an older sister might. And it was fair to say the feeling was mutual; otherwise, he wouldn’t have opened up about Milly last night.

“No need to be this grumpy,” she said, circling back to the conversation now that they had time to spare. “I know admitting you like someone isn’t always convenient, but—”

“I know,” he cut in, rubbing his face like he was trying to scrub the stress away. “My problem is… Milly’s so good. And me? My rap sheet isn’t exactly spotless. How could she even consider me, knowing all the crap I’ve done? Knowing that the person who did all of that still lives inside me?”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” Meryl said. “Milly’s the most forgiving person I know—and not because she ignores reality. She notices everything. She just forms her opinions based on what she sees now, not what she hears about before.”

Livio frowned at her, clearly still unconvinced. “Maybe. But it wouldn’t be fair to make her deal with that baggage—even if she says she doesn’t mind. I can’t do that to her.”

That earned him a punch in the arm. Livio was nearly twice her size, but somehow Meryl never hesitated with things like this—and never worried about how he’d react.

“Hey, what was that for?!”

“What’s with all of you guys deciding for us what we can and can’t handle?” she shot back. “Vash pulled the same crap on me. While he was thinking he wasn’t enough, I was pining after him, convinced he only saw me as a friend…”

A sigh escaped her. In retrospect, she hated how much time she and Vash had wasted being like that—but that was a conversation for another day. So she kept going.

“I don’t know exactly how Milly feels, but I do know she doesn’t think you’re some irredeemable monster. Actually, she’s always gushing about how nice you are. And funny.”

“She does?!”

His reaction—eyes wide, posture suddenly alert—made Meryl chuckle. He looked like a teenager who’d just found out his crush might like him back. Livio could handle a firefight without blinking, but when it came to feelings? Utter disaster.

“In case you haven’t noticed,” she said with a sly grin, “you two have the same ridiculous sense of humor—and a big heart to match. Since we’ve got a bit of downtime coming up in November… maybe it’s time you finally do something about it.”

Before Livio could respond, the voice of a news anchor suddenly cut louder through them. The man in the bus stop’s front booth—probably the driver on break—had turned up the volume on the tiny screen perched above his desk. The change was abrupt enough to make them both glance over.

“…again, we repeat: at least ten Terran Corps personnel were caught in what appears to be a coordinated ambush by local Gunsmoke residents in November City,” the anchor was saying, voice taut with urgency. “Three confirmed dead. The others are in critical condition.”

She and Livio moved closer, drawn in by instinct and dread. The screen was fuzzy, the feed grainy—but the voice that came next cut clear through the static.

The screen cut to a man in a slick Earth army suit, sitting at a news desk like he owned the planet. He introduced himself as Colonel Morris. His voice was smooth, his expression severe and he looked completely like the biggest asshole around. 

Meryl’s eyes narrowed. So that was him. She recognized the name—Vance had brought him up more than once, always with a grimace. He wasn’t good news. And only from this broadcast alone, he already looked problematic as expected.

“It’s unheard of,” Morris was saying, “for Earth to impose martial law on a colony—let alone a single city. But in light of this unprovoked aggression, and under the authority vested in me, we’ll be closing the borders and taking full control of November effective immediately.”

The footage changed again—grainy images of the aftermath: a smoking vehicle, debris strewn across sand, Terran Corps insignia half-burned on the ground. Then the photos of the injured came up, one after another.

Meryl’s breath snagged.

“Jude…”

She stepped closer to the screen, fingers tightening around the edges of her coat. That was him—bruised, unconscious, strapped to a stretcher. She hadn’t known Jude well, but she’d trusted him. That wasn’t something she extended easily to people in uniform.

Then came another image. A man barking orders at a crowd, shouting at locals to stay back while they shouted in return that they hadn’t done anything. 

This time the pain twisted into something colder.

“That bastard.”

Livio glanced sideways. “You know him?”

“That’s the one who illegally detained me in November City,” she said, her voice low and tight. “If you hadn’t shown up when you did, I might still be in a holding cell.”

She crossed her arms, the tension in her chest twisting tighter with every word Morris spoke. As far as she knew, the local extremist groups had gone quiet after the broadcast began. No one wanted to stir the pot when things were finally settling. If there had been any intent of insurrection, someone in her network would’ve raised an alert—should’ve raised an alert.

Was she in denial?

Maybe. No matter how many people told her she was doing a good job with the broadcast, that nagging voice inside kept whispering that she might be making things worse. Maybe someone had snapped. Maybe others had followed.

But even as that familiar self-doubt stirred, the more grounded part of her told her to pay attention.

Something was off.

Morris’s urgency—his eagerness to brand this as a full-blown uprising—didn’t sit right. And the presence of that officer, someone who had no problem twisting the law to suit his needs, only made it worse. The locals in the footage didn’t look defiant; they looked stunned—caught off guard, not emboldened.

There was more to this than they were letting on.

She could feel it. 

Hell, part of her even wondered if this was a setup. A ruse. A neatly packaged excuse designed to draw Vash out—maybe even orchestrated by Chronica herself. They still didn’t know where she stood. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t capable of using chaos to get what she wanted.

Unfortunately, having a hunch wasn’t the same as knowing. And while it was a good thing they were already on their way to November, only God knew how hard it would be to navigate a city in that kind of state.

For one wild moment, Meryl feared he was already gone—that he’d heard the news and slipped off on his own again, convinced he had to shoulder everything by himself. Convinced the only way to protect them was by disappearing.

A familiar voice cut through her spiraling thoughts.

“Senpai! Liv!”

She turned—and there they were. Milly was waving from the edge of the road, Vash beside her. Even from a distance, it was clear they’d heard too, and were heading their way.

A pang of sadness bloomed in Meryl’s chest. He’d been doing so much better. Lately, he’d even started to look like someone who believed peace wasn’t out of reach after all.

Now, that ease was gone. Vash’s posture was stiff, his smile nowhere in sight. At moments like this, he grew so unreadable that Meryl swore she couldn’t even see his eyes behind those yellow-tinted glasses.

Yet—he was still here. Crossing the street. Coming to regroup. Still choosing to stay.

He didn’t rush ahead like he once might have. Didn’t vanish into the chaos alone. Instead, as he stepped up beside her—focused now, bracing himself—his fingers brushed hers in passing. 

Meryl thought of the promise he’d made the last time they parted: that he wouldn’t leave her behind again.

So far, he was keeping it.

And that was enough to help her steady herself as the bus rolled in, its engine rumbling like the storm they were about to walk into.

Chapter Text

Contrary to what most people might assume, sneaking into a city under siege isn’t all that hard—not if you know the right people, like Meryl and Milly did, who can point you to the proper entrance. With the right timing and a little nerve, you could slip into November City and pass for someone who’d been there all along, just as they had for the past few days.

The real trouble started later, once they inevitably began stirring things up. With a group like theirs, it was never a question of if . Only when .

“So, how does it feel to have your first wanted poster?” Vash asked, trying to lighten the mood as both Meryl and Milly frowned down at the paper in their hands.

They’d found it earlier that day, tucked into a cracked wall of the abandoned building they were using for shelter on the city’s edge. Livio had spotted it first, pulling it free with a crooked grin. At first glance, it looked like every other wanted poster Vash had ever had—except this one had two key differences.

First, the photo had finally been updated to match his current look—black hair, a little more aged, a little more human. Second, printed neatly along the bottom, were three smaller portraits labeled as accomplices: Meryl, Milly, and Livio.

“I have to admit, I’m not a fan of this,” Meryl muttered.

She knew better than most that being labeled a criminal didn’t always mean you were one in reality—but still, the straight-arrow part of her, the one that clung stubbornly to rules and order, couldn’t help but bristle.

Milly felt the same. Her friend was practically pouting next to her, eyes fixed on the poster like it had personally insulted her.

“I thought you’d find it funny!” Livio blurted out, glancing anxiously between them.

“It is!” the tall girl said, trying to pull off a smile and failing miserably. “It’s just... also sad they think of us like this, when we’re only trying to help.”

Livio winced. “Damn—I’m so sorry, Miss Milly. I really thought it’d cheer you up.”

He wasn’t trying to be flippant. Ever since they’d arrived in November and seen just how intense the surveillance had become, the mood had sunk like a stone—so he figured he had to try something.

You couldn’t walk a block without hearing someone get reprimanded. People were on edge. Jumpy. Careful with their words, their posture, even their eye contact. Fear had settled like a second skin over the city.

But what stayed with them most was what they’d seen earlier that day.

A soldier had cornered a man—older, clearly exhausted, and from the state of his clothes, likely without home. From what they could tell, he’d just been trying to find a place to settle before nightfall.

That didn’t stop the soldier from shoving him to the ground without warning as his colleagues laughed—like it was a game. Like he meant nothing.

Vash had stepped forward, ready to intervene. Damn the consequences. But before he could act, the soldier backed off—realizing he’d drawn too much attention.

The whole display left a sour taste in everyone’s mouth, but Meryl and Milly had taken it the hardest. Once the soldiers moved on, they went straight to the man. Meryl crouched beside him, speaking softly, while Milly handed over what little they could spare from their rations. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to get him through the night—and to remind him he wasn’t invisible.

The mood didn’t improve after that. On the walk to the safehouse, they saw more of the same—soldiers throwing their weight around, pushing boundaries just short of violence. It hadn’t turned bloody yet, but the pressure was building. No one said it, but they all felt it.

Livio noticed the shift in them almost immediately. The way Meryl’s silence grew sharper, and how Milly’s usual cheer dimmed at the edges. That’s why, when he spotted the wanted poster wedged in the wall of their shelter, he pulled it out with a grin. He thought it looked silly enough to cheer them up.

He hadn’t expected it to make them feel worse.

“Don’t sweat it,” Vash said to him, clapping a hand on his shoulder and gently steering him aside as the girls kept talking. “It gets funny... eventually. Usually after a few more posters.”

He offered a crooked smile, then nodded toward the cracked window beside them. The streets outside were empty, shadows stretching long across the sand.

“Besides, it’s not like we’ll have much time to dwell on it—we’ve got to get moving.”

It was past 9 p.m. now, and the curfew was in full effect.

At first glance, it might’ve seemed like poor strategy to wait this long to act—especially since they’d been in the city since morning—but according to Meryl’s contacts at La Mansion , if they were going to make a move, it was better to wait for nightfall.

They’d seen it firsthand—how the soldiers grew more tense and volatile during the day. That pressure bred conflict, and each incident only reinforced their mindset, justifying more hypervigilance and control. A vicious cycle, feeding itself.

At night, though—once the streets emptied and curfew took full hold—the soldiers dropped their guard. They wandered off for food, for drinks, for smokes. They got comfortable.

That’s when the real gaps in security started to show.

It was all about timing now. Finding the right moment to act.

But Vash—strung tight and second-guessing himself—wasn’t sure he could see it clearly anymore.

He heard the girls now laughing, probably finally finding the humor in the whole poster deal. That should’ve reassured him. Instead, it made something in his chest twist.

“You’ve been acting weird since we got here too,” Livio said, cutting through his thoughts with a sharp look.

“It’s nothing,” he replied, too quickly. “Just trying to concentrate. Figure out the best route in. Make sure no one gets hurt.”

The plan, in theory, was simple—and not that dangerous, at least compared to some of the things they’d pulled off together before.

They’d sneak into the hospital, get Jude out, and bring him to safety—Mesa Probe, to be precise. Once there, they’d ask him to tell his side of the story on camera. There was no guarantee he’d agree, of course, but Meryl was convinced there was more behind the official Terran reports—and that Jude, being a good man, would want to set the record straight if given the chance.

Still, Vash couldn’t shake the unease gnawing at him.

The timing couldn’t have been worse. The situation in November City had come right on the heels of a rare moment of calm, and now it felt like the universe was punishing him—for thinking, even briefly, that things might finally be falling into place.

He’d allowed himself to believe he was healing—that he might finally be ready to face Mesa Probe and whatever came his way.

Now, it felt like a warning. Don’t get comfortable. Don’t believe you’re safe. Even after everything, he wasn’t meant to hold on to good things—especially not the people he loved.

Livio let out a long breath, reading him too well.

“I can tell you’re spiraling in that spiky head of yours,” he said. “Yeah, you’re nervous about this mission. I am too. It reeks of a setup—and sure, we’re used to that. But I don’t know if they are.”

His eyes flicked toward the girls.

“But here’s the thing—we keep acting like this isn’t their world. Like we’re doing them some big favor by carrying the risk ourselves. But the truth is, we’re just scared to admit they’re tougher than we are.”

He sighed, then went on,

“And besides, who are we to decide what they can or can’t handle?”

That pulled a small, reluctant huff out of Vash. “When did you get so smart?”

Livio grinned, teeth flashing. “To be fair, I’m just quoting your girlfriend.”

The smile lingered only a moment before his voice dipped into something more serious.

“She’s not wrong. You don’t get the final call here. I hate to break it to you, but she’s the brains in this duo—and people have started noticing. You’re the charming one, sure. But she’s the one they trust. The one they listen to.”

Vash didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. His eyes were already drawn to her.

Meryl knelt beside Milly, checking the mic levels again—sharp-edged and cleanly focused. Livio was right. She moved with a calm precision, even in the worst situations. That steadiness was exactly what he’d come to rely on when everything felt overwhelming.

It made sense that others would feel the same—even through a TV screen. So now, when the world needed clarity—not hope, not recklessness, but real answers—it wasn’t the Humanoid Typhoon they needed.

It was her.

Her and Milly.

There was no way he could pull her out of that role. Not to protect himself. Not over a hunch.

Without another word—but giving Livio a quick nod in quiet agreement—Vash stepped away from the window and crossed the room to join the girls. Meryl glanced up as he crouched beside her, and the soft smile she gave him in return was enough to ease the last of his doubt. At least for now.

He would always worry. That wasn’t going to change.

But he trusted her—trusted her judgment, her instincts, her drive. If she believed this was the right call, then he’d be at her side—and do his damn best to protect her and everyone else.

“Alright,” he said, trying to sound more upbeat than he felt. “Ready to make some chaos?”

Both Meryl and Milly gave him a look.

“I’m joking! Totally joking,” he added quickly, holding up his hands. “Let’s stir things up—with purpose this time. That sound better?”

Meryl rolled her eyes, but there was a smile tugging at her lips as she handed him the map.

Vash lingered for a beat, smiling back at her as he took it. He unfolded the paper carefully, fingers pausing to tap the perimeter around the hospital—where the Corps had cleared out civilians, locking the whole area down.

Then he stepped closer, scanning the layout beside her. The tightness in his chest eased—just a little.

Yeah.

They could do this.

Like they had so many times before.

Jude hadn’t exactly expected to end up in this much trouble when he enlisted in the Terran Corps.

Sure, military life wasn’t easy—but what job was, at the end of the day? If anything, he’d been grateful for the simplicity: follow orders, don’t ask too many questions. That suited him just fine.

He’d never been the smartest of his siblings—not academically, anyway. But he’d always had a practical way of thinking, and in a place like the army, that made him the perfect fit.

Being part of the Terran Corps gave him opportunities he never would’ve had as a kid from the most polluted slums of Old Earth. He could provide for his family. He got to travel. He saw other human colonies, whole other planets. For someone like him, that alone was a miracle.

Life had been good enough, considering where it started. Even when he was posted to Gunsmoke, one of the newest and most unstable colonies, he didn’t complain. He liked the people here. They were decent, hardworking.

They didn’t have the full backing of the fancy SEEDs Project tech to land them on their feet. Most of what they had, they built themselves—with their own hands, from the ground up. That was something he respected.

In some ways, their struggle reminded him of his own.

As he shifted in bed, trying to find a position that didn’t make everything worse, Jude found himself replaying the moment things had started to go wrong. His ribs ached with every breath, his face was a mess of bruises, and his arm was broken in more places than he could count.

Yet, it was the betrayal that hurt the most.

Despite what the official reports claimed, it wasn’t the locals who’d done this to him. It had been his own superiors.

The higher-ranking unit sent in to “supervise” them had been the ones to turn—on him, and on the rest of his squad.

“I knew those guys were trouble the moment we were assigned to them,” he muttered, eyes drifting to the dark window in front of him.

The city outside was still—too still for November. That silence made his skin crawl. It felt like the quiet before the storm.

It was only a matter of time before Morris and his loyalists made their move, staging a coup under the usual pretense of maintaining order. But what most people didn’t know—what they’d likely never be told—was that Morris had been the one to light the match in the first place.

It started with one of his men. Captain Pike.

Pike had begun harassing locals almost as soon as their boots hit the ground, singling out families, especially those with children. Pushing them, cornering them, treating them like suspects in their own homes. Eventually, they pushed back. Of course they did. It was only human.

That’s when the chaos erupted.

He remembered the sound of gunfire—sudden, jarring—and how, for a second, he thought it was the civilians returning fire. But then came the sick realization: the shots weren’t coming from the front.

They were behind him.

Friendly fire.

He remembered the heat, the sting in his arm and side—and worst of all, the smug expression on the soldier’s face. Cold. Dismissive. Like Jude was nothing more than debris in the way of their plan.

Back then, he’d heard a few whispers about Colonel Morris’s ambitions. Some carefully worded questions tossed his way—probing, subtle—feeling him out, maybe even testing the waters for recruitment.

He hadn’t given them much thought at the time.

Earth would never allow a colony to fall entirely under military control—especially not under a single man.

But Gunsmoke was a special case. They had no real connection to Earth in their early days, and they hadn’t developed like a typical colony. To an outsider, it all looked like chaos—especially with two rogue Independents calling the place home .

It didn’t reflect well on them. And that might’ve been exactly the kind of instability Morris needed to justify his own hunger for power. If he pushed hard enough, said the right things to the right people, maybe he could convince Earth to look the other way given the circumstances.

The thought made him shiver.

There were too many ways this could go wrong. The Old Earth had left behind plenty of stories—too many, really—about what happened when men like Morris acted this way. But desperation made people forget. Made them repeat the same mistakes, again and again.

A sudden murmur in the hallway pulled his attention.

He tensed, every nerve on edge.

They’d kept him under watch since he’d been brought back—claimed it was for his own safety, but he knew better. He hadn’t been killed because Morris needed someone alive to help sell the story. Someone broken enough to parade in front of an audience as proof of the rebellion’s brutality.

But that could only last so long.

If they were coming to finish the job, he couldn’t just lie there and wait. He gritted his teeth and forced himself upright, pain flaring sharp and immediate through his side. His guts screamed, his arm throbbed, and for a dizzying second, the room tilted around him—right as the door opened.

“Easy there, soldier. You really shouldn’t be trying to get up in your condition.”

Jude blinked, breath shallow, pulse hammering in his ears.

A woman stood in front of him, dressed in full surgical scrubs. Her mouth was hidden behind a medical mask, her hair tucked neatly beneath a disposable cap. Tall—taller than he expected—and moving with a calm ease that felt strangely out of place in a building humming with tension.

If she was a nurse, he didn’t recognize her. And that alone was enough to keep his body coiled tight beneath the covers.

“Who are you?” he asked, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice. “What’s going on out there?”

“No need to panic,” she said, far too cheerful for the circumstances. “There’s just a bit of noise outside. An outlaw is causing a stir outside. We’re relocating a few patients—just in case.”

“Is it… Vash the Stampede?”

The woman paused at Jude’s wary tone, then let out a small, stifled laugh.

“Oh, no,” she said, the corners of her eyes crinkling with amusement. “Doesn’t seem like it’s him. But whoever it is, they’re just as loud.”

Before Jude could say another word, the nurse gently but firmly took hold of his good arm and began guiding him into the wheelchair.

They exited into the dim hallway. Overhead, the lights flickered, casting long, stuttering shadows across the floor. The air was thick with tension, broken only by the low murmur of voices and the heavy thud of boots from farther down the corridor.

A few Terran soldiers passed them, weapons slung, eyes sharp. They glanced her way—suspicious, but not enough to stop. The nurse didn’t flinch. If questioned, she repeated the same story she’d told him: a precautionary relocation, nothing serious. She even name-dropped Captain Pike, claiming she was acting on his orders.

Jude’s gut twisted. If she was part of all this, then he was already dead. 

His fingers tightened around the armrest. He could still bolt. He was hurting, but not helpless. He could throw himself from the chair, run. He’d done worse under fire.

Just as he was about to make his move—a door farther down the hall swung open and a short woman appeared from it.

“Miss Meryl!” Jude blurted, startled and wide-eyed as she stepped into view.

She gave him a small, reassuring smile, then quickly raised a finger to her lips, signaling him to stay quiet and go along with it.

Before he could process more, the nurse guiding his wheelchair pushed him into an adjacent room. It looked like an old exam room—mostly cleared out, half under repair. Tools were scattered across a nearby counter, and one of the overhead lights buzzed faintly, casting a dull glow over the space.

The moment the last layer came off, recognition hit him. He hadn’t interacted much with her back at the diner when she visited Meryl, so he hadn’t caught her voice—but now, seeing her face, she was unmistakable.

“Miss Milly?” His voice cracked slightly. “You’re here too?”

“Surprise,” she said with a grin, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Long time no see, Mister Jude.”

“You were the nurse? Damn, I thought you were gonna smother me with a pillow for a second.”

“Sorry we had to spook you that much, but we couldn’t exactly leave through the front door.”

Jude turned—and froze.

Leaning casually against the windowsill, stood Vash the Stampede.

Not the mythical outlaw from the headlines. Not the terrifying rogue soldier of legend.

Just… a guy in a coat. Smiling a little sheepishly. Like he was worried Jude might still be upset about the wheelchair ride.

“You okay?” Vash asked, tilting his head. “We were hoping to get you out a little less dramatically, but you know how it goes. Anyway, nice to finally meet you,”  he added, stepping forward and holding out a hand. “The girls told me you’ve helped them a lot.”

The young soldier reached out automatically, still dazed. His grip met Vash’s, but the rest of him was still trying to catch up.

After a few quiet seconds of checking that no one had followed them, Meryl took a step closer and got down to business.

“You’re probably wondering why we’re here,” she said. “First of all… turns out I owe you a favor.” She smiled. “You tried to keep me posted on Vash’s whereabouts. You didn’t always get it right, but I really appreciated it.”

“I mean… I was mostly just trying to be nice to the cute waitress I had a crush on,” he admitted, his face warming at her words. 

Milly snorted. Vash lifted an eyebrow, casting a curious glance at Meryl, who gave a small, noncommittal shrug—like she was just as surprised by the confession as he was.

“Don’t mind me,” Jude said quickly, lifting his good hand in mock surrender. “I’ve had a concussion, so if I start blurting out embarrassing stuff, that’s my excuse.”

“Well, speaking of blurting things out…” she said, eager to steer the conversation back on track. “We actually need your help with something.”

The mood in the room shifted. Jude fell quiet, listening closely as they outlined the plan and the part he’d play in it.

“We know it’s a lot to ask,” Vash said once they’d finished. His voice was gentler now, edged with concern. “But we’re trying to get ahead of this—clear things up before it spirals any further. We’ll get you somewhere safe, and once you’re ready, you can tell your side of the story…”

“I’ll do it,” Jude said, cutting him off mid-sentence. “It’s the least I can do for my friends. They shot us like dogs, you know? This isn’t just unfair to the people of this planet—it’s unfair to us too. I want justice.”

He paused, flinching as gunfire cracked in the distance. Milly moved to the window, eyes narrowing.

“Sounds like they found Liv,” she murmured to Meryl. “Faster than expected.”

That name made Jude tense even more. Liv? Livio—the Double Fang, maybe. If they needed someone like him on the ground, things were worse than he thought.

He looked up again, urgency overtaking the fear in his voice. “Look—just give me a recorder or something. Let me say what I need to say. If I don’t make it out of here, at least you’ll have my testimony. You guys are better at slipping past the cracks, and a tape is easier to carry than me being a dead weight right now.”

Before any of them could protest, Jude pushed forward. “We can record another version later—add the full story if we make it out. But right now? Let me give you this. I’ll only talk if you promise me one thing: that getting this tape out becomes your top priority. That’s my condition.”

Vash looked to Meryl, silently asking her to weigh in. She stood still for a moment, running through the variables in her head. In the end, she seemed to reach the same conclusion he had: arguing would waste time they didn’t have.

“Alright, deal” she said. “You win. You’ve got one minute, though.”

She turned to Milly. “Can you set up the small camcorder? The one we brought just in case?”

The taller girl nodded, pulling the device from under her coat and crouching down to get it running.

As the girls worked, another sharp burst of gunfire cracked through the air.

Vash tensed. With the way things were unfolding, splitting up after Jude’s recording was the only option that made sense. If their real goal was getting the truth out—and fulfilling their part of the deal—then pinning everything on a single route, hoping all of them would reach Mesa Probe unscathed, was a gamble they couldn’t afford. Dividing their efforts meant doubling their odds. One team would smuggle Jude to safety; the other would ensure the tape got to the right hands.

The responsibility of escorting Jude had fallen to him from the start—not just because he could navigate occupied territory better than anyone, even with an injured man in tow, but because he knew the fastest, safest route to Mesa Probe.

The problem was not that logic, it was Meryl.

There was no question how this would go. She wouldn’t pick the safer option. She’d insist on going with them, not out of defiance, but because she’d feel responsible—personally, emotionally—for Jude’s safety. Especially now, when they were asking him to step straight into the eye of a political storm.

Leaving with Jude alone was a possibility. He could move quickly, before she had time to argue—leave her with no choice but to follow Milly and Livio to the NLBC station outside November. He’d done worse. But he’d also promised not to leave her behind like that again.

A hand dragged down his face as he tried to focus on Jude’s voice, still echoing across the room, caught by the tiny camcorder. The words barely registered. That unease he’d been carrying since morning was gnawing at him again—sharper now, harder to dismiss.

It was probably just nerves. The usual brand of pessimism creeping in—the kind that only showed up when the stakes involved more than just his own life.

Vash adjusted Jude’s weight on his back, arms wrapped securely around the younger man’s legs as they moved swiftly through the narrow streets. Meryl kept pace beside him, scanning every corner ahead. The city around them felt even more volatile now the gunfire increased.

At this point, it was clear the Corps had caught on to their strategy. From the barked orders over comms and what they overheard while hiding, the soldiers knew exactly who had been involved in the hospital break-in—and who they’d taken with them.

His anxiety spiked as they slipped between shadows, dodging crossfire and doing their best not to get shot. Even under that pressure, it was a relief knowing Milly and the tape were already on their way to the NLBC. As predicted, Livio’s distraction hadn’t lasted long—he was already on the move again, working to meet up with them just as they left the building.

They regrouped in a narrow side alley off the main road, giving Livio a quick rundown of what came next. His usual easy grin wavered.

“You sure about this?” he asked, his eyes flicking between Vash and Meryl.

“No,” he admitted. “But it’s the best shot we’ve got. So don’t die on me, alright? Be careful.”

Livio rolled his eyes, like Vash had just said the dumbest thing imaginable. “I can’t die! Who’s gonna protect Miss Milly if I do? And if I’m already doing that, nobody else better be dying either!”

Under different circumstances, they might’ve laughed at his flawed but well-meaning logic. But there was no time for that. Everyone knew their part, and without further word, they split—each heading into the night with purpose.

For a while, it seemed like they were going to make it. They’d been spotted a few times, sure—but each time, they managed to lose their pursuers, ducking into side streets or weaving through broken alleyways until the shouting faded behind them.

Vash wasn’t as fast as he used to be. It showed in the way his body moved—slightly slower, less fluid since he’d lost most of his Plant energy after the fight with Knives. He wasn’t slow by any means, just no longer what he had once been.

Still, a part of him had worried Meryl might struggle to keep up with his longer strides. But unsurprisingly, she stayed right beside him, matching his pace without hesitation. When Jude’s weight shifted or Vash’s grip began to falter, she was already there—steady, focused, ready to help without a word.

He glanced her way once. She met his eyes and gave a quick nod, like she was saying, keep going—I’m with you.

A small smile tugged at his mouth despite everything.

They worked well like this. For a little while, it felt like old times—caught in something wild and ridiculous, danger snapping at their heels, and somehow still making it through. The weight of everything—bullets, war, what came after—lingered in the background, but it didn’t smother the rush.

As they slipped into a run-down house without much trouble, Vash felt more focused. Maybe even a little hopeful. Maybe they really could see this mission through—soon, and without anyone getting hurt in the process.

A sudden shot cracked through the air, grazing the side of his neck just as he slipped through the door behind Meryl.

The optimism vanished in an instant. He hadn’t just misread the moment—he’d completely misjudged it.

Vash lowered Jude quickly, shifting the soldier’s weight onto Meryl.

“Your neck—You’re bleeding!” Meryl gasped, eyes wide.

He touched the spot. His fingers came away damp, but not soaked. That was the strange part—if it was just a graze, why did his head feel so foggy?

“There’s something in there,” Jude said, leaning closer. “Like a dart, or—”

Gunfire shattered the window, cutting him off. All three of them ducked as shards flew across the room. The enemy had found them—and they were closing in fast.

“Back door,” Vash said, voice low but firm. “Take it. Find cover in the next house and wait for me.”

Meryl stared at him like he’d lost his mind—like he was doing it again, pushing her away because he was scared of what might happen to her.

“I’ll be right behind you,” he said, holding her gaze, willing her to understand. “I am not breaking my promise. I’m just adjusting the plan. I need to disarm them, give us some breathing room.”

More gunfire cracked through the air, leaving Meryl with little choice. She pulled Jude’s good arm over her shoulders and started moving, guiding him toward the back of the house like Vash had said. Before reaching the door, she stole a glance over her shoulder. He was crouched beneath one of the windows, rising only to fire. He really did seem to be buying them time, not just throwing himself into danger. If he meant to charge out and take on the Corps head-on, he would’ve done it already. 

She exhaled sharply. Okay, she thought. Okay, he’s not saying it to trick me into leaving—he’s just holding the line. That assurance gave her the push she needed to keep moving, to believe he really would be right behind them.

And that had truly been Vash’s intention. He wasn’t bluffing when he said he’d be right behind them. He just needed to clear enough space so they could move safely through the last leg of their escape—and to deal with whatever was lodged in his neck. If he didn’t, he’d only become dead weight, slowing Meryl and Jude down when they could least afford it.

Vash rose to fire again, but the moment he moved, a jolt of raw electricity surged from his neck, blinding him. The shock shattered his focus—and in that instant, a bullet slammed into his shoulder. Normally, an injury like that wouldn’t have stopped him. But weakened as he was, it knocked the wind out of him. His legs buckled. The floor rushed up to meet him.

Muscles failed first. Then coordination. His body was shutting down, but his mind remained stubbornly alert. Everything blurred into a haze—images, sounds, even textures, all colliding in no discernible order. Time felt warped. Scrambled. He couldn’t tell what came first or last. The confusion was so overwhelming, he almost wished for unconsciousness.

Almost.

The thought of Meryl and Jude still anchored him. Somewhere out there, they were moving. Escaping. He hoped they wouldn’t wait. But guilt still twisted behind the thought—he hadn’t meant to leave her. Maybe it really was the better call.

His eyes closed for only a moment. Long enough for the static to settle, for the pressure clawing at his senses to ease.

He held onto the memory of her melody. As it did when he needed the most, it slowed his thoughts, smoothed the noise, eased the pull of panic.

The calm wrapped around him like gauze. He let himself breathe—once, fully.

When he opened his eyes again, the room was no longer the same.

There’d been no sensation of being carried, no footsteps, no dragging across the floor. The scenery had shifted without warning—one blink, and everything had changed.

Vash blinked slowly. The light was dim now—different. Cooler. Artificial. A low, constant hum buzzed somewhere above him, mechanical and droning.

He was lying on something hard. Concrete, maybe. The scent of oil and dust clung to the air. Not the hospital. Not the house. Somewhere else entirely.

A basement? A storehouse?

Pushing himself up on one elbow—each movement dragging like it was underwater—he registered how terribly sluggish his nerves had become. But it was the silence that rattled him most. No gunfire. And worse, no melody threading through his head.

“…Took you long enough. If we knew Limiters worked like this, I would've used one on that bitch ages ago…”

The voice bled through the stale air, muffled by distance and static, but unmistakably familiar.

Morris.

Vash’s eyes refused to focus, but at least his ears were functional enough. He latched onto the fragments, willing his mind to string them together.

“…I’m glad you woke up,” Morris drawled, footsteps slow. “We thought we’d fried your brain for good there.”

A low, cruel chuckle followed.

“…She was funny, y’know? That Stryfe. Could barely hold that tiny Beretta. Shaking so hard, I thought she might drop it before I even raised my gun.”

The mention of her name hit like a blow. No. No—they didn’t find her. She ran with Jude. She must have made it out. She’s with Milly and Livio now, working out a plan to get me out of this mess. She wouldn’t have gone down that easy. Not Meryl.

His thoughts looped like a broken reel, a mantra against the encroaching panic.

Across the room, Morris paused—savoring his silence, his dread.

“…Well, at least now she’s dead. Finally shut her up—so I guess it was worth it in the end.”

Impossible.

The word echoed through him, useless against the tide. His mind reeled beneath the weight of it. No—it couldn’t be true. Not her too.

He fought the thought, pushed it back with everything he had, clinging to scraps of memory like lifelines—anything to keep her real.

Her laughter rang in his head, dry and biting one moment, warm and full the next. He saw her eyes, the way they softened in rare, unguarded moments—like sunlight slipping through stormclouds. That stubborn little crease between her brows whenever something struck her as unjust—quick to argue, quick to fight for what mattered.

Each detail landed with the strange, aching clarity of love tangled with disbelief. 

How could someone feel this alive in his mind and still be gone?

A breath caught in his throat.

“Don’t believe me?” Morris asked, smugness curling through every word as he caught the denial in Vash’s expression.

Fueled by rage alone, Vash managed to turn his head—eyes locking onto him with raw, unyielding defiance.

That’s when he saw it.

Morris was holding something.

White. Torn.

A cape.

Her cape.

Almost entirely soaked in blood.

Everything—every promise, every fragile hope—crushed beneath the weight of that single image.

The light Meryl had carried into every room, every space, even into him—

Gone.

The world collapsed inwards. The hum returned. The noise of everything, and the sound of nothing at all.

Pain faded from his chest, the fire in his shoulder barely a memory.

Only the hollow, sinking cold of grief remained—too deep for sound, too heavy to keep him conscious any longer.

Chapter Text

The fire had burned low, leaving only a warm flicker of embers in the sand. Milly was curled up beside Livio, both of them passed out cold, snoring softly beneath a shared blanket. They’d overdone it with the whiskey they’d cracked open to celebrate their first night reunited in New Miami, but neither Vash nor Meryl could blame them. While not nearly as drunk as their friends, they’d been just as excited. With good reason.

As far as they knew, NLBC had aired their broadcast without much issue, and now it was only a matter of time before the reactions started rolling in—both from Gunsmoke’s civilians and the Earth Forces. Sure, the response could be bad. That was always a possibility. But tonight, there was a strange, persistent feeling of calm in both of them. It was that quiet, suspended moment after doing something big—when everything’s out of your hands, and all that’s left is to breathe. 

With only the two of them awake in their camp outside the city, and the rush of the day finally worn off, the feeling became even more pronounced—making Vash more fidgety than usual.

“You okay?” Meryl asked, pulling her gaze away from the firelight in front of them. She didn’t sound annoyed, quite the opposite, actually. She hadn’t stopped smiling since they sat down with their backs to the van.

“Yeah! Totally!” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to laugh off the nervous edge in his voice. “It’s just... this is the first time we’ve had time to talk alone since—”

“Since you kissed me before running off from my apartment?”

Meryl chuckled, watching the way his cheeks flushed at her bluntness. Honestly, she surprised herself a little too—but what was the point in skirting around it anymore, when their feelings had already become so obvious?

“If you put it that way... yeah,” he said, a bit shaken. “Sorry, I’m not good at this stuff.”

“You’re better than you think. That was a good kiss. A bit rushed, but totally understandable given the circumstances…”

It was Vash’s turn to laugh now. He loved when Meryl let herself be silly like this. Under different circumstances, he’d have kept the joke going without missing a beat. But not tonight. Not now. He needed to say this before he lost the nerve.

“Reporter girl, I’m trying to say something here,” he said, reaching for her hand, still grinning, even as he tried to sound serious.

She tilted her head, amused. “Then say it.”

He hesitated as his thumb brushed lightly over the back of her hand. “I... I don’t want things to get weird between us.”

“Weird?” she echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Why would they?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, the words spilling quicker now, like they’d been waiting behind his teeth all night. “I guess I’m afraid this past week gave you time to think. That maybe you realized we’re better off as friends. Or worse—that whatever this is... stalls here. And I don’t want that to happen.”

He glanced down, suddenly shy. “I know it sounds stupid, but I’ve been wondering.”

There was a pause—awkward on his side, but not on hers.

Meryl looked genuinely deep in thought, like she was turning his words over.

Then her eyes lit up, slowly but clearly—like she’d reached a conclusion.

“So from where I’m standing,” she said carefully, “your main worry is that you have no idea how I feel about us right now, and it’s eating you alive.”

“Well, if you put it like that, it sounds kinda silly, but—”

“It’s not silly.” She sat up straighter. “I´m only trying to figure out the best way to give you an answer. I think I found it.”

“You did?” His brow furrowed slightly. “You’re better with words than me, so I’m not surpri—”

He didn’t get to finish.

With a determined little scoot forward, Meryl grabbed the collar of his duster, tugging him down enough to close the height gap, and kissed him.

It took him a split-second to process, then another to catch up. But when he did, he melted into it without hesitation, smiling against her lips as if it had been the answer he was hoping for all along.

Over the years, Meryl had seen Vash in so many different lights—grieving, scared, kind, infuriatingly reckless. This was the version she always hoped to see more of: open, unguarded, happy. 

She caught the faint hum of contentment in his throat, felt the way his hand slid to the back of her head, gently pulling her closer. This wasn’t anything like their first kiss—yet to Meryl, it felt just as intense. Like a moment etched deep enough to remember for the rest of her life.

Except—the image in front of her was already fading. The warmth of the fire. The press of his lips. The feel of his coat beneath her fingers—everything softened, lost its edges. Not because it hadn’t been real—it had—but because her exhausted mind couldn’t conjure a dream. All it had left to offer was memory.

Memory, which shattered with a sudden jolt from outside, slicing through the haze and making her flinch in her seat.

“It’s only a bump in the road. We’re sorry, Miss Stryfe.”

Meryl turned toward the presence beside her. Naomi, Mr. Vance’s colleague, sat in the back seat next to her, watching her with gentle concern. The jeep jostled again, its frame rattling over uneven terrain, shaking loose whatever warmth still clung to the edges of her mind.

“How are you feeling?” the young woman asked, her eyes flicking toward Meryl’s left leg.

It took a second to process the question. Naomi was likely referring to the gunshot wound—not the state of her head, which, after that outburst when they found her, needed no diagnosis. She was a mess—through and through.

“A bit numb, but you wrapped it up well, so I’m not surprised,” she replied, trying to sound level-headed—even though the twitch in her eye and the tremble in her hands made it a hard sell.

“Don’t worry if you can’t move it much,” Mr. Vance called from the driver’s seat. “It’s the anesthetic we used to get the bullet out. No bones or nerves were hit. With a little physical therapy, you should be walking fine in a few weeks. You might feel a bit drowsy, though.”

How long she’d walk with a limp was the least of her concerns, but she appreciated their care all the same. It was safe to assume Naomi and the old scientist had her best interests in mind.

The woman in the passenger seat, though? That was another story.

Chronica’s eyes met hers briefly in the rearview mirror. Back in Octovern, the first time they met, she had regarded Meryl with detached curiosity—like she was studying an unpredictable experiment she hadn’t yet figured out.

Now, however, her gaze lingered a second longer than expected—and this time, it almost looked like concern before she turned back to the road.

The Independent had barely spoken since they’d set off. Not that she was ever particularly chatty to begin with—but after everything that had happened between them hours ago, even the smallest shift in her behavior felt like a clue Meryl couldn’t ignore. Especially if it hinted at her true intentions.

Shifting slightly in her seat, Meryl weighed whether now was the moment to start asking questions. So far, all she really knew was that she’d been rescued… or possibly arrested. Or maybe left in some strange limbo between the two. No one had offered much in the way of explanation—just vague assurances that they were “here to help.”

Her first instinct had been to ask about Vash—or about Milly and Liv, or even what this so-called “help” actually entailed. But she knew pushing too hard, too soon could lead to hostility. Still, she had to start somewhere—and now seemed like a good time.

“Where did you take Jude?” she asked at last, doing her best to sound composed—to prove she could handle whatever answer they gave her.

“I want to know if he… if you took care of—” she pressed, her chest tightening as blind panic surged back, sharpened by their silence. Flashes of Jude’s blood clawed their way to the surface.

“We’re taking care of it,” Naomi replied gently, catching the rising tremor in her voice. “You’ve been through a lot, so the details can wait. Please—try to rest. Give yourself some space from—”

“I can’t!” she burst out, the words raw and trembling—so much for easing into things. “He… I saw him. And Milly and Liv are still out there! And Vash—they said—”

“We are aware. That’s why we are here” 

Meryl could’ve kept arguing, even despite the interruption: that she was done with all the ambiguity, that she wasn’t some fragile thing to tiptoe around. But the mere fact that Chronica spoke to her directly stopped her cold.

“As Naomi said, we’re taking care of it,” the Independent continued, looking annoyed but not exactly contemptuous either. “Overloading you with information now, after everything you’ve been through, would only be detrimental—not just for you, but for us as well. We need you clear-headed again as soon as possible to get your witness testimony and make informed decisions.”

Maybe it was the fact that Chronica had shown what felt like a facsimile of concern, or maybe it was the unspoken confirmation that, for now at least, they were moving toward the same goal, and that she was being treated more like a witness than a detainee. Either way, Meryl found herself nodding and leaning back again.

Did she trust the woman enough to comply without suspicion? Absolutely not. As far as she knew, Chronica still wanted Vash—for god knows what—and it wasn’t like she was particularly fond of Meryl either.

Then again, circumstances had changed a lot in the last few hours. Chronica had played a key role in saving her back in the junkyard, and there was a chance she might keep the promise she’d made back then. The memory of what exactly happened there felt messy, but real enough to cling to.

Besides, there wasn’t much else she could do. As Vance had said, she really was drowsy. Fighting back now would only drain what little strength she had left. Going along, at least for the moment, would give her a chance to recover. To regroup.

Once she was clear-headed again, she could decide what came next—whether that meant cooperating… or slipping away before it was too late.

Focus, Stryfe, Meryl told herself as she rested her head against the jeep’s window, squeezing her eyes shut against the pale glare of the suns cresting the horizon. In the end, she’d chosen not just to follow Chronica’s suggestion to rest, but to use the time to actually sit with everything that had happened, no matter how painful it was.

Pushing first past the raw, instinctive resistance to revisit the last few hours, the first thing that surfaced was moving ahead with Jude. Their plan had been simple: exit through the back, cross the alley, and cut through the next building.

But the moment they opened the door, everything fell apart.

They hadn’t even taken two steps outside when gunfire erupted from above. Soldiers stationed on the rooftops had clearly anticipated their movements and were already in position.

“Watch out!” Jude shouted, reacting first and yanking her arm as a bullet whizzed past her ear.

Unsteady on his feet from earlier injuries, Jude lurched toward her, and the sudden movement sent them both tumbling into a tangle of limbs. Meryl recovered quickly, dragging him toward the nearest cover—a row of battered trash cans. She didn’t stop to check if either of them had been hit. She kept her attention on timing their next move, watching for even the smallest gap to dash for the next house.

Unfortunately, moving forward felt like a dangerous gamble. The soldiers had a clear vantage from the rooftops, giving them nearly full visibility of the alley. Meryl’s heart sank as the realization hit: waiting for Vash at the agreed spot wasn’t just risky. It was impossible.

They’d have to improvise: find shelter, somehow survive this ambush, even if it meant losing track of each other in the chaos.

“We gotta keep moving,” Jude said, breathless, catching the hesitation in her eyes.

He was right, of course. They couldn’t stay huddled behind trash cans forever, and she couldn’t afford to freeze up. Jude needed her. And if she wanted any chance of reuniting with Vash again, she had to stay alive.

Thinking fast, she turned toward the wall behind them. It was part of an old shed: weather-worn, all rotting wood and rusted joints. There wasn’t a door nearby, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t make their own. With one hard push, she pried a loose panel free, creating a hole wide enough for them to squeeze through.

“In here,” she said, dragging Jude inside as another round of bullets tore through the alley behind them.

It took effort, but they made it—stumbling into the shadowy stillness of the shed. The scent of dust and rust filled the air.

Meryl helped Jude upright again. He was pale and clearly rattled, but did his best to shift his weight, leaning back against her shoulder.

That’s when she froze.

Her gaze dropped to where his side pressed against hers. Her white cape, usually spotless, was soaked in red.

But she felt no pain. No injury.

Her breath caught.

“Jude… you’re bleeding,” she said, reaching for him.

He waved her off with a strained motion, managing a shaky smile. “My stitches tore, that’s all.”

Back then, even with adrenaline surging through her veins, Meryl hadn’t bought Jude’s excuse. There was no time to argue, though, especially with bullets starting to hammer into the walls of their new shelter.

After that, everything blurred again. She did remember leaving the shed and forcing herself to move fast, which wasn’t easy while half-carrying someone significantly larger than her.

At some point, they nearly ran into two Corps soldiers. Thinking quickly, she dragged Jude into what looked like an abandoned junkyard. Thankfully, it seemed no one had seen them slip inside. Several soldiers rushed past, assuming they’d kept running.

“We can hide here,” she panted, easing him down behind a pile of rusted metal. “I think we lost them…”

With a moment to breathe, Meryl turned her full attention to Jude. He looked even paler now, the front of his shirt soaked through with blood. A chill swept over her.

“You have to let me take a look at that,” she said, lowering him to the ground. This time, he didn’t argue. He barely let out a grunt in response.

She tapped his cheeks, trying to keep him conscious, then checked his pulse. It had slowed to a concerning level. Though he was breathing, his eyes had gone glassy, his focus slipping. The situation was growing more dire by the second.

Fighting the rising panic, she yanked open his hospital shirt. As she feared—there it was. A fresh bullet wound in his stomach, bleeding fast. She ripped off her cape and pressed it against the wound, hands shaking as she tried to think of a way out of this.

In the present, Meryl felt her pulse spike and something hot coil low in her chest, rising fast like it might choke her. A tightness settled behind her eyes, sharp and blinding. She kept them shut, refusing to open them. If she did, she knew she’d start crying again. The next part, the part coming back to her now, was something she knew would haunt her for the rest of her life.

Meryl didn’t know when the Terran Corps soldiers had entered the junkyard because her entire focus was locked on stopping Jude’s hemorrhage. But then, all at once, she looked up to find a group of four or five soldiers surrounding them.

Before she could utter a word or even react, the gunfire started—and every shot was aimed at Jude. She saw his body jolt violently on the ground beside her. At first, her brain tried to mislabel it: shock, a seizure, anything. But no. Those spasms weren’t exactly from pain. They were from bullets, tearing into him one after the other. 

People got shot all the time on this forsaken planet. She’d seen it—had even been responsible for a few of those bullets herself. But this was different. It happened too fast, too violently. One moment, Jude was beside her: hurting, but alive. The next, the person she’d tried so hard to save was gone.

What remained wasn’t him. It was a shapeless, bleeding mass where someone used to be, and his blood was all over her.

“Target eliminated. The girl’s alive. Should we bring her, or...?” one of the soldiers said into his comm.

Those words barely registered before instinct took over. Her fingers curled around the handle of one of the derringers she kept tucked at the small of her back—a backup in case she ever lost her cape. There was no time to think, no space to hesitate. The odds were hopeless: she was outnumbered, cornered, and already wounded—one of the bullets had lodged in her left leg.

None of that mattered.

Not even the static-laced reply over the radio—low, dismissive—shook her. What did was the line that followed.

“We’ve got the rogue Plant. That was always the goal. Whatever happens now is up to you.”

The words echoed in her ears.

We’ve got the rogue Plant.

With renewed conviction—as always, when she learned Vash was in danger—she shoved against the dirt, her injured leg screaming in protest, and forced herself upright. The derringer trembled in her grip, but she raised it anyway.

“What did you do to him?” Her voice came out hoarse, raw with fear and fury. “Where is Vash?”

One of the soldiers turned—as if noticing her for the first time—then stepped closer and removed his helmet. His face came into focus.

Captain Pike.

He grinned at her, slow and smug.

“Oh, right. You’re the sidekick. Nice to see you again.” He strolled toward her, rifle swinging lazily at his side. “You’ll be glad to know he’s alive. A bit brain-dead—thanks to the limiter we slapped on him—but if you behave, you might get to see for yourself.”

It wasn’t just the thought of what they might have done to Vash that made her stomach churn. It was the way Pike looked at her now, like a predator savoring the moment. She didn’t need to be a genius to know he was bluffing. He had no intention of taking her to Vash. If anything, he’d rather kill her on the spot. But the way he strolled toward her, smiling, eyes darkening with each step—it told her everything. He planned to hurt her first. To enjoy it. Every second of it, with sadistic delight.

The realization made her hand jerk. She fired at his legs, aiming low in a desperate attempt to knock him off balance and buy even a second of space between them.

The shot rang out, but he didn’t flinch. Whether it was the armor or her shaky aim, it barely seemed to register.

In one swift motion, Pike lunged forward, grabbed her by the front of her shirt, and slammed her into the dirt. The impact knocked the wind from her lungs. Her gun skidded out of reach.

“Not behaving, then?” he said, pointing the muzzle of his rifle at her, hovering inches from her forehead. “Smart girl. Ending it quick is better than what I had in mind for you.”

So this is it, Meryl thought, closing her eyes and willing herself not to cry. Her heart ached at the thought of leaving the world like this, without a goodbye and with so little dignity. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Not that.

People say that when you’re about to die, your life flashes before your eyes.

But for some reason, all that came to her were the faces of the people closest to her heart—her parents, Milly, Wolfwood, Livio... and of course, Vash. She held onto the image of him smiling sincerely. That was how she liked to remember him. It was a rare sight, especially for someone who deserved far more happiness than life had given him.

In a way, it was a beautiful image to go out on. A reminder that, despite everything, the world she was about to leave had held good things too.

She only wished it hadn’t ended like this—that she’d had the chance to say goodbye to Vash, or at least leave with the comfort of knowing he was alive and safe, even if she couldn’t be by his side.

A second stretched, long and suffocating.

Then a new round of shots rang out. Sharp. Sudden.

None of them hit her.

Everything exploded into motion from there.

A new wave of Terran soldiers poured into the junkyard, but instead of going for her or what was left of Jude, they turned on Pike’s unit with ruthless efficiency. 

Pike and his men tried to fight back, but it didn’t last long. Within moments, most were dead or pinned to the ground, barked at to stay down and not so much as twitch.

Before she could even ask herself what the hell was happening, someone knelt in front of her.

“Miss Stryfe, are you okay?”

It took a moment for her mind to catch up, her vision to sharpen.

“Mr... Vance?” she mumbled.

The old Terran scientist who’d helped her so much back in Octovern, and who hadn’t stopped helping from afar all this time, was now here in the flesh. He checked her vitals, swept a flashlight across her eyes, and called a young woman named Naomi over to look at her leg.

At that moment, she couldn’t bring herself to wonder how they’d found her. The adrenaline was wearing off, and her mind began to drift. Her thoughts dulled, the noise around her grew muffled, and her body slumped slightly in place.

She couldn’t feel her hands—or much of anything else, really.

Her chest rose and fell in short, shallow bursts. A tremor ran through her limbs and her skin felt cold despite the heat of the day.

A new, sharper female voice asked if she was okay. Vance replied with something about acute trauma shock. The words barely registered.

Somehow, Meryl managed to turn her head, trying to see who else had come to her rescue.

It was Chronica.

Not only was she ordering Vance and his assistant to get Meryl to safety—she was crouching beside her, close enough to touch.

“I need you to breathe,” she said, her expression carrying the faintest trace of concern. “If you don’t, you’ll hyperventilate and pass out.”

Whether it was the trauma, the surreality of the situation, or the fact that it felt like she’d been given another chance to live—Meryl didn’t know. All she knew was that something inside her snapped, like she had to make the person in front of her understand before she lost her grip entirely.

“They took him,” she blurted, tears slipping free. “Vash. They put something on him—a limiter or… God, I don’t know. I heard them say it.”

“I know you’re angry at him,” Meryl went on, sobbing openly now. “But he’s still your brother—and he needs our help.”

The words tumbled out, frantic and clumsy.

“You can do whatever you want to me. Arrest me. Kill me. I don’t care. But please— please —promise me you’ll get him back.”

Meryl could’ve sworn she saw Chronica nod.

Could’ve sworn she heard her say, “I will. I promise.”

But then again, she had passed out shortly after—exactly as she'd been warned.

Coming back to the present, Meryl let out a quiet, sad laugh.

There was a very real chance none of that exchange had actually happened. Her mind might’ve conjured the one thing it needed most: a version of events where she had a chance to save Vash.

And even if it had been real, the logical part of her knew better than to expect too much—especially after everything that had passed between Chronica and Vash. She should have been doubting the Independent’s sincerity.

But the weight of Vash’s absence, and the crushing knowledge that he was likely in danger, pressed in from all sides. The pain felt so sharp, so immediate, it had to be playing tricks on her. Her frustration built until her eyes stung with new, unshed tears.

The idea of opening her eyes to a reality with no answers was almost too much to bear. She’d do it eventually—she was wired that way.

But right now, she just wished for something.

A sign. Something to prove this wasn’t a lost cause.

“I want people to know what really happened. That we weren’t attacked by locals, but by our own. At this point, I don’t care if I die. I want the truth out there.”

She froze.

Jude. That was his voice.

It couldn’t be. He was dead. She’d seen it—felt it—too clearly.

Had it finally happened? Had her brain cracked under the weight of all this?

“I’m glad you’re awake.”

Chronica was now seated beside her, holding a small screen in her hands.

The jeep had stopped. Meryl must have dozed off again, because now it was just the two of them. No sign of Vance or Naomi. A flicker of anxiety rose up, but Chronica cut in before it could spiral.

“They went to fetch a wheelchair to transport you to the ship,” she said calmly, pointing to the small Earth space transport standing in the distance. “I stayed behind.”

Then, as if sensing the lingering suspicion in Meryl’s expression—despite presenting her with undeniable facts—she added dryly, “And so we're clear, I didn’t stay behind to kill you without witnesses.”

Chronica sighed, clearly aware the comment had landed wrong. Meryl hadn’t even spoken, but her tense body language said enough. Independents like Chronica were taught to respect and care for humans since they were born. That didn’t mean they were great at talking to them.

“What I mean is that you need clarity before moving on,” she explained, offering the small screen. “And since your cooperation matters, I thought it was best you heard it from me.”

She paused long enough for Meryl to take in the gesture. Reluctance was clear in the reporter’s expression, and while she didn’t seem to accept Chronica’s word, she at least accepted the device.

As soon as she took it, Jude’s face—alive and resolute in the hospital footage—came into view. A sharp wave of emotion hit Meryl, enough that she had to press a hand to her mouth to stop the sob rising in her throat.

It confirmed two things: Milly and Liv had made it to NLBC safely, and the truth was starting to slip into public view.

If that wasn’t the sign she’d been waiting for to keep going, she didn’t know what was.

Chronica gave her a moment before continuing.

“Apparently, you unwittingly helped my cause. I was already en route to shut down this martial law nonsense when I heard about your team breaking into the hospital. It was dangerous, reckless, and honestly? Idiotic. But it worked.”

“But it also ended with Jude dead and Vash... God knows where,” Meryl said, her voice thick with emotion.

“That soldier was never going to leave that room intact,” Chronica said, her tone firm. “They needed someone to support the army’s version of events. Morris has people like Captain Pike—experts in extracting confessions that fit the narrative. And when they’re done, witnesses tend to vanish under suspicious circumstances.”

That last part hit harder than Meryl expected. So she hadn’t been wrong about that man’s true nature after all. Still, it didn’t make the guilt over Jude’s death any easier to bear. No explanation could undo it. She’d probably carry that weight for the rest of her life, no matter how many people tried to tell her it wasn’t her fault.

The revelations didn’t stop there. As Meryl sat, trying to absorb it all, the Independent began laying out the bigger picture from her side. At first, Chronica had dismissed Morris as another petty officer drunk on power. Her sole focus had been Vash and Knives. But once she uncovered his ties to an off-the-books experiment aimed at hijacking Plant limiters, she could no longer look away. Political scheming was one thing. Attempting to enslave Independents was another. It was a threat to both Independents and humans alike, because nothing good ever came from trying to control that kind of power.

The disbelief and confusion only deepened with each piece Chronica added. Morris had been maneuvering politically for months, and while the NLBC broadcast had stalled his plans—forcing him to delay to avoid early exposure—he hadn’t backed down. Instead, he pivoted, opting for subtlety: orchestrating a fabricated rebellion to justify a wider crackdown.

“After the attack, there were already whispers of martial law orders spreading to other cities,” she said evenly. “Some Earth Federation higher-ups are backing it. But this recording has given them pause. We need to act while that window is still open.”

With such staggering implications and stakes in play, Meryl leaned back slightly, absorbing it all—how close the world had come to spiraling even further out of control, and how fragile this fleeting moment of hesitation from those in power truly was. Her pulse hadn’t quite settled. But for the first time in hours, her thoughts felt sharp.

“I think I understand,” she said quietly.

It had been the right call to wait until she was more coherent—there was no way she could have followed any of this in her earlier state, let alone maneuver through a conversation like this.

“I’m glad you’re trying to stop all of this too... but I still don’t see where I fit into your plan.”

The Independent pointed at the screen. “The recording you made of Jude was a good start, but it’s not enough. I need someone from Gunsmoke to speak out—someone the locals trust, but who can also be taken seriously by Earth forces.”

“So... you really want me as a witness?”

“Yes. But more than that, you matter to Vash—and that puts you in danger. I don’t know exactly what Morris wants from our kind, or from him specifically. But I won’t risk having someone out there he could use as a bargaining chip.”

While she had a point, and a solid one, being reduced to little more than leverage for Vash stung. It wasn’t the fact that she mattered to him that bothered her. It was the implication that her value hinged solely on that bond.

And if that really was the case, then another possibility lingered. One she couldn’t afford to ignore.

“How do I know you won’t use me as a bargaining chip too?” Meryl asked. “You want Vash, and I still don’t understand why.”

For a split second, panic flared in her chest. Had she pushed too far? The question had come out sharper than she intended—more like a challenge than a concern. She braced herself for a cold retort, or worse, for Chronica to shut down entirely and show her true colors

But none came.

Instead, the Independent stared ahead in silence, as if she genuinely saw her point.

“Fair enough,” Chronica said after a moment. “Yes, we saved your life, and your allies are now mine as well. But you don’t know me. I could’ve lied to gain their cooperation. Even choosing reason over force to convince you might be a calculated strategy.”

She looked directly at her. “Still , I made a promise back in the junkyard—and I don’t break promises lightly. I told you I’d bring Vash back, and I meant it. I want him.”

So that moment between them hadn’t been a hallucination. Good. But that didn’t explain what Chronica actually planned to do once Vash was within her reach.

Maybe now was the right time to address the elephant in the room. If there was even a small chance of tipping the balance in their favor, she had to try.

“If you want to know what happened with Knives, I’ll tell you myself,” she said, her voice a little too anxious. “He’s dead. I never understood why Vash was so secretive about it, but if that’s what you were after—now you know.”

The other woman shook her head slowly and let out a short sigh of exasperation.

“I’ve long assumed Knives was either dead or neutralized. So having that confirmation, while comforting, doesn’t change much.”

Meryl cursed under her breath, starting to worry about where this was going. If Knives wasn’t the target anymore, why was she still so keen on retaliation?

As if sensing her unease, the Independent glanced over and seemed to brace herself before speaking again—this time with something closer to honesty than authority.

“I’ll be completely transparent. All of this has always been about revenge. I didn’t want Vash restrained because it was the right thing to do. I wanted him to suffer for protecting the one who hurt someone very dear to me.”

Meryl’s expression must have started to shift, growing more guarded. Chronica rushed to keep talking, as if trying to clarify before judgment could settle in.

“But recent events have made something painfully clear. I have a tendency to lock into a single point of view, and it’s cost me more than once. I don’t want to make that mistake again.”

A beat passed.

“I won’t promise I’ve changed my mind entirely,” she admitted. “But I’m willing to reconsider—if I see that there’s logic behind his choices. That he’s not unhinged, but operating from a place I haven’t understood yet.”

For a moment, Meryl sat frozen. This was the first time they’d spoken without hostility. Not exactly as equals, but with something close to understanding.

She didn’t fully trust her. That much hadn’t changed. Chronica might be bluffing, trying to maneuver her into compliance.

Yet the honesty in her words—the way she admitted her resentment had roots in something deeply personal—was impossible to dismiss. Beneath the cold exterior, there was emotion.

Now, a narrow window had opened. A chance not just to help Vash, but to also show Chronica he wasn’t a threat. That he didn’t deserve to be hunted. That he might finally live the peaceful life he longed for.

Vash had always believed in giving people a chance, even when they hadn’t earned it. That faith had stayed with her, rubbing off more than she cared to admit. Because now, despite everything, she was willing to believe Chronica hadn’t been acting out of malice. Maybe it had all come from pain instead.

In the distance, Meryl spotted the spaceship waiting and saw Vance and Naomi approaching with a wheelchair. It was time to decide.

“We can take you to NLBC,” Chronica said, turning back to her. “Back to your friends. And we can take it from there. You don’t have to come.”

“No. I’ll go with you.”

Chronica blinked, clearly surprised.

“I told you,” she went on, already shifting to open the jeep’s door. “I don’t care what happens to me, as long as I help the people of this planet and know Vash is safe. You hold up your end of the deal, and I’ll make sure you see what the rest of us see in him.”

How convincing she looked—wrecked and bloodstained as she was—Meryl couldn’t say. Her leg throbbed fiercely now that the anesthetic was wearing off, and every movement pulled at her battered frame. Still, she hoped her eyes showed what words alone couldn’t.

Judging by the flicker of a smile that touched Chronica’s face, maybe her point had landed.

If she could draw even that small reaction from her, then she could do anything.

Vash always used to say your ticket to the future is always blank. She would fight with everything she had to make sure hers led back to him.

Wherever he was, whatever they were doing to him, she only hoped he was holding on.

Chapter Text

Despair.

Utter and all-consuming.

With a life like his, Vash had long ceased to be a stranger to it—so much so that he had stopped asking why sorrow kept finding him and had started to assume he was simply meant for it.

But that doesn’t mean you ever get used to it.

Every time tragedy struck, it still cut just as deep. It always started ice cold, sharp enough to feel unreal, like the waking world couldn’t possibly hurt like that.

And then, once reality settled in, the burn would come, slow and merciless, seeping into the hollow spaces left behind.

It was true. He had managed to pull through each time, enough to surprise even himself with his resilience. He kept going after Rem died, after July, after Wolfwood’s demise, and so many other tragedies. Yet that didn’t mean he came out the other side unscathed. Every time, something inside him chipped away, leaving less than before.

So by the time Nai died, it wasn’t only grief he was facing—it was the terrifying realization that there might not be much left to rebuild.

“The hardest part about recovery is that you have to do it all at once. Body, mind, heart. It doesn’t wait its turn.”

That’s what Doctor Bond had told him, back when he finally opened up about it all.

Healing was coming slower than he was used to. After months of treatment and physical therapy, he still couldn’t walk without crutches. And while Vash wasn’t exactly familiar with this kind of fragile, uncomfortable side of humanity, he wasn’t too proud to admit when something was hard. It was clear the physical struggle alone wasn’t what had worn him down.

No—what was happening to him went far beyond his body.

Nai’s death had left him restless and raw. The lack of resolution between them sat in him like a knot, tight and irritating, impossible to loosen.

His thoughts kept circling, chewing over things he couldn’t change, trying to make sense of a relationship that had almost never made any sense to begin with. Any sort of enjoyment he’d found in Mesa Probe had been growing grayer by the day, to the point where he didn’t think he was very pleasant company anymore for either the good doctor or his son.

Siimple things, like a warm meal, had started to feel pointless. Tasteless. Less like nourishment, more like obligation. 

At this point, Vash feared this version of himself—the one who only knew how to sulk and shut down—was all that remained. 

“You’re allowed to be like this, you know,” Doctor Bond had said, after noticing how little comfort his earlier words had brought. “It doesn’t mean you’ve failed. It means you’ve been fighting for too long without rest. So now, you need extra time to get back on your feet—literally and metaphorically.”

“But it feels so far away,” Vash had murmured, rubbing his face with both hands. “Like that moment’s never going to come.”

Doctor Bond had only smiled at him, as if he knew exactly what that felt like. After his wife’s passing, he’d kept going and going, but it never seemed like he’d reach that point where things would be okay again.

He wasn’t ready to share that with Vash then. That would come later, on one of those long, quiet evenings in the ward. So instead, he offered a piece of advice that had once helped him, when nothing else had.

“So focus on the one thing that still gives you hope,” he’d said. “Something—or someone—that’ll make all your effort to keep going feel worth it. For me, it was Carlito. For you… well, you’ll have to find out. God knows you’ve had plenty of time on your hands lately.”

Back then, Vash hadn’t needed to think too hard about who that someone might be. 

Of course, that would be Meryl. Little by little, she had carved out a space so deep within him that she became the very embodiment of hope in his eyes. 

Sure, knowing she was out there, waiting, had stirred panic in him at first. Did she think he was dead? That he had left her behind for good this time? The thought beat in his chest like a ticking clock he couldn’t silence. But beneath the anxiety lived something else. The promise he’d made, the idea that someone like her might still be holding on, gave him a reason to do the same. It made him stubborn in the face of pain, unwilling to give in.

Now, though, thinking of her had the opposite effect. It only stirred a yearning that could never be eased, as death had made the distance between them absolute.

That was why he hadn’t made any effort to break free from this new reality: dusty lab walls, cracked tiles, flickering lights, and the cold press of the stretcher beneath him. 

If he’d wanted to leave, the odds couldn’t have been more stacked against him. The only exit was a door with no handle or controls in sight, which meant it could only be opened from the outside. He’d stared at it enough times to know there was no forcing it. And even if he tried to push his luck, the way he always had, his condition left him with no strength — and no will — to follow through. All he wanted was to shut down, to sleep. To take advantage of the near-catatonic state they had forced on him and surrender to oblivion, letting it take the edge off everything.

Unfortunately, not even that was in the cards for him in this hellhole.

“Why is he always sleeping like this?”

Morris’s voice cut through the haze again, loud and grating. He had been drifting in and out for hours, maybe days—he wasn’t sure anymore—but that bastard always had a way of yanking him back to full awareness. Still, he kept his eyes shut. Morris hated how unresponsive he was, and that, at least, was something he could give him in return.

“Sir, this is normal under the circumstances. The science behind using limiters this way is still far from perfect…”

“We didn’t haul him here just to end up with a damn vegetable!” Morris snapped, cutting off the other person in the room—a scientist or maybe a tech guy, Vash guessed. “Like this, he’s as good as dead!”

There it was again—the same old conversation about how all of this was meant to weaken him enough to force cooperation and patch up his crumbling agenda. Each time, the desperation in his voice sharpened, a sure sign things weren’t going his way. Vash’s unresponsiveness was only making it worse, his failure to coax him into compliance gnawing at him.

Had a flicker of humor survived in Vash, he might’ve laughed at his short-sightedness.

Perhaps Morris liked to think himself as a brilliant strategist but little did he know that this whole plan had been doomed from the very start. 

First, there was nothing he could offer, and no threat he could make, that would ever make Vash lend his support to someone so vile. Others—stronger, smarter, more ruthless—had tried. They’d all failed. There was no reason to believe this time would end any differently.

Second, in trying to tighten his grip, he’d killed the one person who could have given him any leverage over Vash. In that single act, he’d cut away his last—albeit slim—chance of success. But he was too warped to see it, too incapable of imagining that anyone but himself could matter in the greater scheme of things.

“We can lower the transmission on the limiter,” the other man said once Morris’s tirade ended, sounding fed up himself. “But that could risk him regaining enough strength to contact other Plants, expose our location—or worse, launch an attack. And we don’t have the equipment to handle a rogue Independent.”

Morris snorted. “This thing’s not even a Plant anymore. It can’t fight. Won’t obey. Hell, it barely breathes.”

The next moment, a hand clamped around Vash’s throat—tight, brutal—yanking him out of his stillness. His eyes snapped open to find Morris looming over him, face twisted with rage. The smooth-talking figure from the broadcasts was gone; all that remained was a man stripped to his ugliest self.

“What do I have to do to get a reaction out of you?” he hissed. “Kill you? Would that matter? Telling you your little reporter was dead didn’t faze you. Why would it? You’re nothing but a lab rat.”

It took only a fraction of a second to register what he’d said. Once it did, Vash’s reaction was immediate. His fingers twitched, and a jolt shot up through his shoulder, like the limb belonged to someone else. The arm he thought might never obey him again lifted from the stretcher on pure instinct, clamping down on Morris’s wrist before his mind could catch up. Even he was startled by how quickly his despondence shattered, undone by only a few words.

“What... do you know,” Vash rasped, “about how much she matters to me, scumbag?”

Morris flinched, shock flashing in his eyes. He’d only meant to blow off steam at a half-conscious body—he hadn’t expected anything left in him capable of fighting back.

“You little freak—let go!” he snapped, twisting his arm with growing alarm. “He’s not supposed to be able to move like this!”

He shot a look toward the other figure in the room. “Don’t stand there! Shut him down!”

“The limiter’s already at its max,” the other replied, tense. “Any more and we risk permanent damage. He could end up in a real vegetative state.”

“I said do it!” Morris roared.

The hum came sharp and high, drilling into the base of his skull like a spike. Every nerve in his body flared at once, as if someone had pinched them all shut. Light fractured behind his eyes, bright for a second, then narrowed, collapsed, and vanished.

It felt like a short circuit.

In the brief moment before everything went dark, one last thought hit him hard and cold:

What if she was still out there… and he didn’t wake up again?

It was foolish. He knew that. She was gone.

But he couldn’t help but care.

It was like slipping into a dream, but not quite.

Everything was too sharp for that.

It felt less like sleep and more like waking up in a new reality — one that wrapped around him with an eerie, unsettling finality.

Had it finally happened?

Had Vash the Stampede met his end?

He didn’t know. But it felt dangerously close.

“Are you okay? You look terrible, you know?”

The voice startled him, a faint jolt running through him as though he’d only just noticed the blond little boy at his side. He’d been there from the moment Vash had slipped into this strange in-between, sitting beside him on the bench in front of the SEEDs ship piano.

The music room was exactly as it had been in his childhood—down to the smallest detail—but unnervingly quiet. Rem was nowhere to be found. She was always there in his memories — talking to them, kind and patient, sharing whatever she could to help them understand the world. Without her voice filling the space, the silence felt heavier.

Even so, Vash decided it was a relief she wasn’t there this time. He didn’t think he could handle seeing anyone else he’d lost right now.

“I can’t help it. I’ve had a rough few days, but I’m okay—don’t worry,” he said, forcing a smile. The boy only frowned back, unconvinced.

It had taken Vash a while to place him—it had been so long—but when recognition came, conflicting feelings rushed in. Anxiety stirred first; he knew all too well what seeing Nai here might mean. Then came relief, because this was still the boy he remembered, with a long way to go before becoming the man he would one day be.

Nai shifted where he sat, the movement small but restless, eyes fixed on him.

“You know what cheers me up when I’m sad?” he asked after a beat, his expression bright with eager sincerity. 

“Playing the piano?” Vash replied, a faint fondness in his tone.

How do you know that?!” 

The surprise on his face tugged at something old and familiar in Vash’s chest.

“I might look older, but I’m your brother, remember? I know everything about you. Or…” his voice faltered. “…I used to.”

That made Nai pause, his brows knitting together. “So now you don’t know everything about me? Why?”

The question lingered between them. Vash kept his gaze averted, trying to choose his words with care; he didn’t want to revisit their story and risk tainting this small, cosmic moment of comfort, so after a while he offered a noncommittal answer instead. “People change. I did too. It’s inevitable,” he said.

As expected, Nai picked up on his deliberate ambiguity. Disappointment flickered in his eyes before softening into something closer to understanding.

“Then… play something,” he said, gesturing to the piano. “For a little while. You might’ve gotten all weird-looking with that red duster and so old, but I bet the music will still make you feel better… won’t it?”

Vash blinked, surprised. For a moment, he thought about brushing it off—his mind too numb to summon any melody—but his brother’s stubborn insistence tugged at him in a way he couldn’t ignore.

With a slow breath, he shifted toward the keys. At first, his hands moved cautiously, coaxing an uneven rhythm. Feeling out of practice, he almost stopped—until a sideways glance caught Nai watching with a small, encouraging smile. He didn’t have the heart to let it end.

The melody steadied, filling the once-silent room and loosening something deep inside him. Before long, he’d found a loop he liked, letting it flow without thought.

“I’ve never heard that one before,” Nai pointed out.

“It must be new,” Vash replied, his hands still moving. Then, mid-phrase, a strange ache slipped into the rhythm, a shape forming at the edges of his mind. His fingers faltered, the music dying mid-note. Why did it make him feel so desperately sad when the melody itself was hopeful, even in its bittersweetness?

Then it struck him. The melody might be new to Nai, but not to him — he’d played it months ago, for the very same person who had inspired it.

At that, whatever was still holding him together cracked. He hadn’t cried since the moment he’d learned about Meryl, because he knew that once it started, it wouldn’t stop. But now, her song stripped away the last of his defenses.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and buried his face in both hands. Sobs tore out of him, hard and unrestrained, as if every grief he’d ever carried had been waiting for this moment to break free.

“Vash?” Nai’s voice lost its playful edge, replaced by a worried tremor. “What happened?”

Vash dragged in a shuddering breath, trying to steady himself, but the words caught in his throat. “The song…it’s about someone,” he managed between hiccups. “Someone I… miss very much.”

Nai placed a tentative hand on his back, giving it a light pat. “I see. I can tell you cared a lot. You didn’t put any bad notes in there” He tilted his head slightly. “How was this person? They sound great.”

A shaky breath escaped him as he swiped at his eyes. The irony wasn’t lost on him — this Nai wanted to know about Meryl, while the other had dismissed her as nothing but an inconvenience. Still, he found himself wanting to share her with him.

“She’s the kind of person who seems unapproachable at first,” he began, “like she couldn’t take a joke. But once you get to know her, you realize it’s because she gives everything she has to whatever she’s doing. She genuinely cares.”

His brother nodded at him, as if trying to picture her in his own mind.

“I’ve met a lot of people over the years, and all of them were special in their own way. But… she’s different.” His gaze drifted, as if he could see her standing there. “It’s hard to be kind, you know? For her, it’s harder still. She’s not powerful in the usual sense after all. She can’t force the world to bend when it gets cruel. And yet… she chooses to believe in people. She stands her ground, no matter if her opponent is three times her size. I think that’s what I…” He paused, the words catching in his throat. “…what I admire most.”

“She sounds… kinda like Rem.”

The comparison hit Vash in a way he hadn’t expected. A faint, wistful smile touched his lips. “They’re alike in a lot of ways,” he admitted. “But… I love them differently. Rem was the light that showed me where to go when I was lost. Meryl…” His gaze softened, the words lingering as if they might shatter if spoken too quickly. “…Meryl’s the one who makes me want to keep walking.”

He glanced back at his brother, as if to see if the answer satisfied him. Nai still wore the same wide-eyed, boyish face from his memories, yet something in the way he looked at him felt off.

“This is what I don’t understand. I can believe she’s that kind… but if she’s so tough, why did that man say she cried, and could barely stand up to him before he hurt her?”

Nai’s voice turned sharp, almost fed up, and the sudden shift made Vash freeze. Those words carried a weight and certainty the boy shouldn’t have possessed. For a heartbeat, he wondered if this was truly the Nai from his past, or the one he’d known more recently, wearing a younger face.

“How do you know what Morris said? As you are, you shouldn’t—”

“Focus, Vash,” he cut him off. “We don’t have much time. Figure it out. Think about what he said and tell me if it still makes sense.”

He didn’t want to revisit those cruel words, but it seemed this Nai wasn’t going to relent. He never did when he was frustrated with him like this. So, against his own will, Vash summoned the memory of what Morris had said back then:

“…She was funny, y’know? That Stryfe. Could barely hold that tiny Beretta. Shaking so hard, I thought she might drop it before I even raised my gun.”

The ugly, taunting echo threatened to drag him under again, but once the initial shock passed, it began to itch at the edges of his mind.

Meryl could be a bigger crybaby than him sometimes, and he wouldn’t blame her for losing her cool in such a situation. But Morris had painted her as scared, brittle—almost a damsel in distress, which she had never been.

Then, almost reluctantly, his focus caught on the detail he hadn’t questioned before.

A Beretta.

That wasn’t her gun. 

And Morris—an army man—should’ve known the difference. Which meant that if he didn’t… he’d never been there, or things hadn’t happened the way he claimed.

“But what about the bloody cape?” Vash said—only realizing afterward that Nai shouldn’t have been able to follow his inner thoughts. The thought was still settling when another crept in: somewhere between the music and their conversation, the boy beside him had changed. He couldn’t recall the exact moment, but now, in the same spot, sat the grown-up Nai from Mesa Probe, watching him with that familiar, teasing smugness—glad Vash had finally caught on to how much of a fool he’d been to believe that bastard. The shift was so seamless it made him wonder if the boy had ever been there at all.

“Don’t think too hard about it,” Nai said, the teasing edge giving way to urgency. “Right now, you need to figure out what happened to that woman yourself. Listen—for reasons I’ve never understood, you always refuse to give up. So despite the damage the limiter’s done, you will wake up. That means you need to be ready… and take the opportunity when it comes.”

Vash opened his mouth to answer, but the space around them was already starting to thin. The moment was slipping from his grasp, breaking apart like ripples on water.

Soon Nai’s face was fading, his older, wearier features dissolving into light. Yet when he spoke, his voice carried through the fog and reached Vash with perfect clarity.

“I’m sorry I can’t send you off with all the answers,” he said. “I’ve never been good at explaining myself… so I thought I’d try one more time.”

Then came the hug. In a place already blurred between dream and reality, it somehow felt more surreal—yet Vash swore he could feel his twin’s arms around him. He held on, willing the moment to stay, afraid that letting go would scatter it like dust.

And through that fading closeness came the words. He would never know if they’d truly been spoken by Nai or born from his own wishful thinking—but either way, they stayed with him, pressed into his heart long after he woke.

“Have a great life, brother. I’m sorry. For everything.”

The glow from the monitors painted the room in sickly green and white. Some screens played Jude’s broadcast on a loop, burned into the feed like a curse he couldn’t scrub out. Others ran local or Terran news — different tones, delivery styles, and anchor faces, but the same message in every one: Morris was utterly, irreversibly screwed.

Not that he’d admit it, of course. But the evidence was right there in front of him.

They announced, again and again, that both fronts had declared a truce until they could investigate what had really happened in November — and that all signs pointed to him as the one behind the recent insurrections. Some Terran reports even claimed the Earth Federation was eager to hear testimony from a certain resilient small-town reporter with ties to Independent Plants, a step locals saw as a welcome move toward clearing up the whole misunderstanding.

“There’s got to be a way to discredit that video confession. We can say it’s doctored, right?” He turned toward one of his techs.

The man hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. He’d been asked the same thing all morning.

“We could… but it won’t hold for long, sir. This wasn’t a digital file to begin with — looks like it was taped with older tech. No metadata to poke holes in…”

Morris’s jaw tightened, his hand slamming against the console hard enough to rattle the nearest screens. “So you’re telling me we’ve got nothing? That some washed-up rebel with a camcorder just outplayed all of you?”

This was unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable. He should’ve seen it coming. Rats were always sneaky — and the Gunsmoke lot were no exception. Not only had they put him on display for the whole damn system to see, but now it seemed they’d won over that bitch Chronica as well.

He’d thought getting his own rogue Independent on his side might be the only way to balance the scales, the only thing that both the locals and that bitch seemed to fear or care about. But that had gone nowhere. 

That limiter crap hadn’t given him the control he wanted. Neither had breaking him down. Pain, deprivation, going after loved ones—usually, that was all it took. Most people cracked fast enough.

But this one? This one wouldn’t crack the way he wanted.

Maybe that was the problem. You couldn’t expect a lower species to think or feel like a human…

“What the hell is that?!” 

Before he could ask who had spoken, a sharp, metallic pop split the air, followed by the acrid sting of burning circuits. Every monitor blinked to black, the hum of machinery dying in the same breath. For a moment, the only sound was the faint hiss of something frying behind the walls.

The emergency strips stuttered to life, bathing the room in a thin red glow.

Morris rounded on the tech who had spoken. “What the fuck happened?!”

The man swallowed hard. “I—uh—saw movement in the prisoner’s room. Then the feed went dead.”

“Move!” Morris barked, already striding for the door. Another problem was coming straight at him—he could feel it—and the thought only made his pace quicken. Two guards pounded after him, boots hammering the floor.

The heat hit before they reached the cell. When the guards swung the door open, smoke and the flicker of small flames burst into the corridor. A scorched tangle of cables hung from the machinery that had kept the Plant stable, still spitting sparks.

But worse than the fire was the stretcher.

It was empty—save for a dark smear of blood pooling beneath it.

Morris swore and shoved past his men, scanning the chaos inside. The smoke was thick enough to sting his eyes, the heat pressing against his skin like an open oven. Behind him, the guards coughed, stopping in their tracks as they shield themselves of the unexpected red gloom.

That hesitation cost them. Out of the corner of his eye, Morris caught the faintest movement at the edge of the open door—a shadow sliding along the wall.

“There!” he barked, jabbing a finger toward it. “Move!”

The men spun around, but the smoke swallowed the figure before they could see which way it had gone, lost somewhere in the maze of corridors branching from the room.

If they’d been able to see clearly, they might have noticed the figure wasn’t moving fast at all—and they could have caught him. But this time, it seemed Vash’s odds were finally back in his favor.

Vash knew it, too, and he wasn’t about to push his luck. So he kept moving, shoving the pain to the edges of his mind, the wall under his palm the only thing keeping him upright. His breath came shallow and ragged, every step leaving a thin smear of red in his wake, the wound at his neck burning as though the limiter had been torn out along with a fistful of flesh—which wasn’t far from the truth.

The pain was dizzying, pulling the edges of his vision in and out of focus. But he couldn’t stop—not with the opportunity right there. He had no idea what waited for him beyond these walls. For all he knew, Meryl could be gone—had been gone from the very start—and he was clinging to more hope in Morris’s contradictions than they likely deserved.

But he wasn’t ready to let go of the chance. Even if it turned out to be nothing. Because no matter where she was now—alive, gone, or somewhere beyond his reach—she was still here with him. In his heart, in his memory, in every promise they’d ever shared.

She was in the way his steps kept moving forward, in the stubborn beat of his pulse, in the ghost of her hand on his arm urging him on. In the faint echo of her voice telling him that she will fight alongside him always. In the memory of her eyes, sharp and bright, showing him that he deserved to be loved by someone like her. 

All the pieces of her that remained inside him came together—not whole, but enough—to press the same truth into his chest: Don’t stop. Don’t give up.

Maybe he couldn’t always believe his own life was worth the trouble. But she had. And for her—for that unshakable belief she’d carried for the both of them—he would keep moving. 

Chapter Text

Waking up to the same sterile ceiling. Pulling  on the clothes she’d been given to replace the ones soaked in blood. Getting her leg checked by Mr. Vance and Naomi. Asking about Vash. No answer.

Then came hours of questioning from important-looking people, all equally horrified and appalled by what had been happening under their noses.

Asking about Vash again. Still no news—not since Chronica had received what seemed to be a lead on him during her first day aboard. True to her reserved fashion, the Independent offered nothing beyond a brief assurance she would take care of it, adding she was “fulfilling her part of the deal.” Meryl hadn’t heard a word since.

The days kept blurring together, just like the faces of the Terran officers she kept being introduced to, one after another. Their ranks and ways of approaching her changed, but the questions didn’t—always circling the same topics: Vash, Knives, Octovern, November City, Jude, Colonel Morris—how she had even ended up in the middle of all of it.

Another medical check—her leg was no better. No nerve or bone damage, they’d said, but a tendon had definitely been hit.

Sleep.

This had been Meryl's life the last few days, and the repetition was wearing her down. She didn't mind consistency. Sometimes it could even be comforting. But this felt different, like a loop that refused to move forward.

Later, as she sat on one of the infirmary beds and Naomi gently removed the old bandages from her leg, Meryl finally let her frustration spill over about the lack of news. By now, she couldn't believe she was the same woman who had once waited two years without knowing what had become of Vash after the Fifth Moon incident. Back then, she’d liked him—more than she’d ever admitted, even to herself—but their relationship had been different. And she hadn’t yet faced, firsthand, the full cruelty of the people who held him.

“It’s only natural you feel more apprehensive,” Naomi said as she cleaned the wound with practiced care, readying fresh gauze. “Your past trauma is bleeding into the present, and it’s making everything harder.” She glanced up briefly, offering a small, empathetic smile. “But think of it this way—Chronica may be silent because she wants to be extra cautious. We still don’t know for sure who’s on our side, so she’s not going to take chances, especially if it’s a good lead.”

A slow breath escaped her as she looked down at her hands. “I guess you’re right,” she murmured. “I’m just so tired of always having to wait.”

“Makes sense, even Penelope had a hard time waiting for Odysseus after all”

“Who?” None of the names sounded familiar. Were they other Terran officers she hadn’t met yet?

“Penelope and Odysseus are characters from a really old Earth story,” Naomi explained as she reached for the medical tape. “She was married to the king of a land called Ithaca, who went off to fight in a war. It took him twenty years to make it back home.”

“Twenty years?! Now I feel bad for complaining.”

Naomi shook her head, smoothing down the last corner of the bandage.

“Two days, two years, twenty years — it all stretches the same when you don’t know what’s happened to the person you love most.”

Her voice softened as she peeled off her gloves, setting them neatly aside.

“But Penelope did more than waiting. A lot of people tried to take advantage of her husband’s absence to claim the kingdom for themselves. But she was clever, and she managed to keep everything from falling apart until the day he returned… like you’re doing now.”

While the comparison flattered her, a retort still rose in Meryl's throat—that all she'd done lately was answer questions and be fussed over—but the words died unspoken at the sound of a sharp knock on the infirmary door.

It was Mr. Vance. 

“Sorry to interrupt, ladies,” he said as he stepped into the room. “I know you’re about to call it a night, but I thought I might share two pieces of news I’ve received—news that might lift Miss Stryfe’s spirits a little.”

Their eyes dropped to his hands—in one, a small glass vase of vivid blue flowers, their color almost startling against the sterile white of the room. In the other, one of those sleek, screen-shaped comms so common around the ship.

“Where did that come from?” Meryl asked, her gaze lingering more on the latter than the former. Could it be that Chronica had finally made contact? Logic told her no—Vance would have said so outright. Even so—worn down as she was—any scrap of good news felt worth clinging to.

“These?” Vance said, passing her the vase. “A sort of diplomatic gesture from Mr. Samsa. He said he felt sorry for giving you such a hard time today with all his questions.”

Meryl examined the flowers—exquisite, unlike anything she'd seen before. The faint glow in their petals marked them as Plant-produced. Samsa. The name stirred her memory, and after a moment, the face clicked into place—the Prime Councillor himself. He’d stood out to her immediately—not because he was a Terran bigshot, but because she could tell, right away, that he was an Independent.

What lingered in her mind was the way he always circled back to personal questions about her and Vash. Not intrusive exactly, but pointed enough to make her shift in her seat more than once.

"That's... nice of him," she said at last. "He shouldn't have bothered, though. I figured he only asked like that because he needed answers that involved his people."

“Well, it seems all that questioning paid off.” Naomi’s tone grew thoughtful. “Independent–human relationships are always under scrutiny back on Earth. If Prime Councillor Samsa is willing to smooth things over with you, it means he sees you as someone acting in good faith.”

“And earning a place in his good graces is no small feat,” Vance added gently. “Especially given his personal history on the matter. He married a human himself, after all.”

“Wait! He’s married to a human?!”

He nodded. “It was a scandal at the time. He even used a limiter to accelerate his own decay, so his lifespan would match hers and they could grow old together. That’s regarded as the ultimate symbol of commitment… though plenty dismissed it as a waste of Plant potential.”

“Even among Independents, that practice is controversial. I remember Chronica absolutely losing it when Domina toyed with the idea of doing the same, if we—”

Naomi stopped short, lips pressing together as if she'd realized too late how much she'd revealed.

The air between them tightened. 

Meryl was tempted to ask more about how relationships between humans and Independents worked on Earth, but the tension in Naomi's voice made it clear this was sensitive territory.

Luckily, before the silence could stretch too far, Vance—smooth as ever—stepped in.

“The point is, this is great news for you, Miss Stryfe. Having Prime Councillor Samsa on your side brings you that much closer to ensuring Vash’s freedom once we have him back. Even Chronica would think twice before crossing him.”

He let the reassurance linger for a beat before adding, a faint smile tugging at his lips, “And the second piece of news: Kaelin—Chronica’s assistant—finally managed to track down two others you’ve probably missed. And it looks like she found them.”

Already suspecting who it might be, Meryl’s heart pounded with anticipation as Vance placed the device in her hands.

The screen remained dark, but a burst of static crackled through the speaker—followed by a voice practically shouting:

“Short girl, can you hear us?! HELLOOOOO?!”

Another familiar presence crashed in right after just as loud.

“Liv! You don’t have to scream! I’m sure she can hear us. RIGHT, SENPAI?!”

“Yeah—loud and clear. Too clear, actually,” she said quickly, leaning toward the device to make sure they could hear her too, despite the chaos on their end.

She turned to Mr. Vance and Naomi, who had been quietly watching nearby, and mouthed a silent thank-you as a smile broke across her face.

Vance gave a small nod and gestured toward the door. “We’ll be around if you need us,” he murmured, and he and Naomi quietly stepped away, pulling the curtain closed around her bed to give her the privacy they knew she needed.

Left alone, Meryl sank back against the pillows, already feeling the weight she’d been carrying these last few days begin to lift.

“You have no idea how worried I was,” she blurted out, running a hand through her hair. “I knew you’d made it to NLBC—I even caught glimpses of you on the news, so I knew you were safe, but I still needed to know if you were really okay…”

“How are we?!” Livio shot back at once. “How are you?! We only learned what happened a few days ago—when that Independent lady reached out to set up this comm for us!”

Milly didn’t miss a beat, her voice taut with worry.

“We were sure you were safe at Mesa Probe! We thought you hadn’t made contact because you were trying to lay low. But then Miss Kaelin came to us… and she told us they had to rescue you—that Mr. Jude is gone, and that Mr. Vash is missing…”

As her friends recounted everything they'd heard, a chill ran down Meryl's spine. Hearing it spoken aloud made it all feel unbearably real—and shattered whatever emotional distance she’d been clinging to until now.

Images of leaving Vash behind—and everything that followed in that junkyard—flashed through her mind in brutal clarity. Her ears began to ring. The room suddenly felt too bright, too loud, and impossibly far away, as if reality itself had slipped out of reach.

“Senpai? Are you still there?”

Milly’s question broke through whatever spiral had taken hold of her.

“Yes, I’m just—” she managed, struggling to gather herself. “It’s just… it’s a lot.”

And with that single admission, the tears she’d been holding back for days finally slipped free, one after another, until she was crying in earnest.

“I mean, I know he must be fine,” she said, trying to gather at least a shred of composure. “He always is. But what if—what if they hurt him? What if he’s d—”

Liv let out a groan over the line.

“I’ll stop you right there, Short Girl. That man of yours is tougher than anything. Practically indestructible. If anyone can walk out of whatever mess they’ve thrown him into, it’s him.”

“That’s right!” Milly jumped in at once. “And it’s not like he hasn’t pulled this stunt before. I’m not even talking about the long absences. He always sneaks off for days and leaves us wondering if he’s okay. So mean!”

“Inconsiderate bastard is the phrase you should be using, Miss Milly!”

A small, helpless laugh escaped Meryl, even as she swiped at her eyes.

“Liv, you’re the one being mean now,” she replied, “But point taken.”

To someone unfamiliar with the way their friendship worked, it might have looked as if her friends were twisting the knife on purpose, talking about it instead of offering comfort. But Liv and Milly were sharper than most gave them credit for, and they knew well-meaning reassurances would get nowhere with someone like her.

What she needed now wasn’t to be told if he would return, but when—because he always did. By this point, it felt almost like a statistical certainty. So why would that change this time?

Of course, there were plenty of reasons it could. But they seemed distant now, little more than afterthoughts compared to the way her friends were framing it.

“The thing is, when I see him again, I’m knocking him over the head for making you cry,” Livio went on, clearly finding the whole thing hilarious. “So hard I’ll flatten that broomstick head of his.”

“Count me in!” Milly added brightly. “I’ll give him a good whack too!”

“Okay, but I want him alive, so don’t overdo it,” Meryl cut in, her smile coming more easily now. “Still—can you believe he’s making a woman like me suffer? So ungentlemanly.”

Laughter erupted again, and even Naomi—who had been quietly monitoring the exchange—couldn't help letting out a chuckle."

“So this little intervention worked after all,” Vance murmured, trying to hide his own amusement as his attention drifted back to his computer. “I’d been worried about how Meryl might react—whether this would make things better for her, or worse, at this point.”

“Me too,” Naomi replied. “I was sure she’d be happy either way—but at the same time, it could’ve been the very thing that pushed her over the edge.”

Now that she’d been able to interact more with her these past few days, Naomi could understand why her mentor had chosen Meryl as the point of mediation between Vash the Stampede and the Earth Federation. She was reliable, with a clear sense of what was right, determined enough to take on the hardest tasks. But she was also the kind of person who kept her struggles tightly contained, because the moment she let even a little slip through, it could unravel everything she’d so carefully put in place.

So pushing her toward vulnerability before she was ready could prove detrimental. But at the same time, something had to be done, because not even the strongest human alive could withstand everything she was going through forever. One way or another, she would eventually reach a breaking point—and when that happened, she might be too far gone, with no way to put the pieces back together.

Knowing the latter option would be even harder to manage, they arranged the call as soon as Kaelin confirmed she had tracked down Meryl’s friends. Apparently, it had been a direct request from Chronica, so no loose ends would be left hanging. In the end, her need to have all the pieces together had led them to find the right people to intervene—those who could acknowledge Meryl’s fears while, at the same time, keeping the desperation from pulling her under.

As if to prove her point, another burst of laughter carried over from behind the curtain, louder now as they joked about Livio being ridiculous. Naomi glanced at her watch. Technically, Meryl should've been back in her dorm by now, getting the rest she'd need for another long day of political briefings and follow-up questions.

But tonight, she decided to make an exception.

Sleep could wait; their patient needed this more.

Even Penelope hadn’t held her kingdom together all by herself. She’d had her allies. Her people. Someone to help her hold the line when the waiting felt endless.

And in the end, her patience had been rewarded. Odysseus had come home, proving that love, though tested by distance and tribulation, could return in the end.

Naomi could only hope Meryl’s story would end the same way. After everything, it felt too cruel to imagine otherwise.

Chronica's gaze remained fixed on the stretcher in the back of the military transport, watching the field surgeon and nurse work to stabilize their patient.

It seemed they had managed to, though neither had dared confirm it aloud to her.

She could see them growing self-conscious under her scrutiny, movements becoming more deliberate, voices dropping to whispers when they thought she wasn't listening. They probably assumed she was dissecting every move to make sure Vash the Stampede didn't bleed out before they reached the ship. And with how thoroughly they'd been briefed on the political stakes involved in this particular rescue mission, it wasn't an unreasonable assumption.

Obviously, that wasn’t the whole picture, but they didn’t need to know that. If they assumed the reason behind her monitoring was nothing more than her usual insistence on precision, all the better—it would keep them working at their best. So she kept silent, listening only to the grinding wheels on the desert road and the low murmur of medical instructions, until she heard exactly what she’d been waiting for:

“The hemorrhaging’s under control,” the surgeon reported, his expression easing. “Vitals are holding steady.”

Chronica allowed herself the smallest release of breath, though her tone stayed clipped. “Excellent. Keep it that way until we’re aboard the Torian.”

The medical team's posture relaxed slightly, and they seemed more willing to elaborate.

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” the nurse said as she adjusted a transfusion bag. “The hemorrhaging was from a major vessel torn when he ripped the limiter. Aside from that, there don’t appear to be any serious injuries. However, we can’t rule out permanent neurological damage from the limiter until we run tests once we’re back on the ship.” She hesitated, then added quickly, “Even so, it’s promising that he woke up at all when you found him, ma’am.”

“Yes. He opened his eyes, mumbled a few things, and went under again,” Chronica replied, deliberately vague. She doubted the rest would matter to anyone but herself.

Her gaze drifted back to the man on the stretcher. He looked better than he had when she’d pulled him from the rubble of that burned-out pharmaceutical lab, but only marginally. His expression was pained, that ridiculous red coat filthy with soot and grime, his neck a mess—likely to leave another scar. Seeing him like this, it was a wonder he’d found the strength to reach for her at all—and through their Gate, no less.

Chronica hadn’t thought he even knew how. Which was why, the first time it happened, it caught her completely off guard.

Her team had been en route to what they believed was one of Morris's hideouts near November City—a lead from a deserter, plus days of combing through intel and CCTV footage.

That's when another Independent brushed against their shared consciousness. Given how fractured and unfocused the signal felt, she was pretty sure it could only be Vash the Stampede.

By the time they reached their destination, there was no denying it. Only the Humanoid Typhoon could have wrought such devastation, even while supposedly at a disadvantage. The building was already ablaze and close to collapse, while Morris’s people stumbled into the street, choking on smoke.

"Make sure none of them escape," she barked to her second-in-command. "Secure the perimeter, and if Morris is nearby, restrain him before I'm back."

Chronica broke from the group then, trailing the pull of his signal. It tugged her eastward, toward the side of the building that, for the moment hadn’t yet been swallowed by flames.

It didn’t take her long to spot someone half-buried beneath the rubble.

There you are, Stampede, she thought, satisfied to have finally caught up with him.

She shoved debris aside as quickly as she could and hauled him free, dragging him into open air. He looked in terrible shape—blood streaked down his neck, his skin pale and ashen from lack of air. Kneeling beside him, she checked for vitals, hoping they weren’t too late.

The contact seemed to spark a reaction; his eyelids twitched, a flicker of life stirring beneath the exhaustion. Then his signal thickened—no longer broken, but looping endlessly, a mantra he repeated to himself again and again.

Don’t stop. Don’t give up. Don’t stop. Don’t give up. Don’t stop. Don’t give—

Unease crept up her spine, the bond between them winding tighter with each passing second. She was trying to make sense of it when feathers sprouted from his wrist beneath her fingers

Though no stranger to exchanges like this, she recoiled the moment their contact caused the mantra to split—and memory bled through in a rush of unwanted images. 

Her hand snapped back just as her team reached her side. They rushed in to help, but she barely acknowledged them.

The damage was done. She had glimpsed Vash’s mind, and what she’d seen painted a picture of someone far more complex than she had ever allowed herself to believe.

“Commander.” The sudden crackle of her comm made her flinch. “We’re coming up on the rendezvous point to board the Torian. Should we send word ahead?”

“Negative,” Chronica answered, snapping back into the brisk demeanor of command. “Send word only once we’re in position—and keep it discreet.”

With nothing more to say, she clipped the comm back onto her hip, forcing her focus outward again. Soon there would be reunions, questions, and decisions waiting for her. But for now, her attention had to stay fixed on one thing: honoring her part of the deal and bringing Vash back. Any judgment of him—and the choice of what she might do with it—would have to wait.

In retrospect, Meryl couldn't say exactly why she hadn't returned to her room right after the call with Milly and Livio had ended.

Her leg throbbed with each step she'd taken that day, and her body carried the weight of sustained crisis, yet exhaustion wasn't what kept her awake. Physically, she was at her limit. But the call with her friends had lifted her spirits enough that her mind buzzed with energy that made sleep impossible. So, rather than lie awake in her quarters, replaying every word of Milly's laughter and Livio's awkward but sincere reassurances, she found herself drawn elsewhere.

The observation deck had been empty when she arrived. Its curved expanse of reinforced glass wasn’t particularly large compared to other spaces aboard the Torian, but for now it would do. It offered refuge from the medical staff who would undoubtedly freak out at finding her wandering the corridors instead of resting, and it gave her exactly what she needed: solitude to wrestle with her thoughts while taking in a view she doubted any other Gunsmoke native would ever see—the cosmos spread before her rather than arcing distantly overhead

Vash had mentioned it now and then—the way space looked from out here: vast, unending stars, silver brushstrokes scattered across black. She loved how fondly he spoke about it, but she could never quite picture it. Now that she was here and letting herself look, she understood; it was every bit as mesmerizing as he’d promised. 

However, once he entered her mind, the awe she'd been feeling began to thin.

If he were here, he'd be beaming for her, thrilled she had this chance. He'd be whispering constellation names at her ear, arms wrapped tight around her, kissing her temple whenever the mood took him—the way he always did when they stole nights to stargaze on the road.

Yes, the cosmos was extraordinary, and yes, she was lucky to see it—yet without Vash, it could never be enough.

Maybe next time I should tell him he can’t make me fall for him this hard only to vanish, she thought. My heart doesn’t recover the way it used to.

Her fingers curled tighter around the railing in front of the glass panel. The audacity of her own certainty surprised her: next time. Not if he came back, but when. She was already treating his return as a fact.

Was this change a product of only wishful thinking, buoyed by her friends' support? Had she, at last, surrendered to denial? Or was it that strange, silent tether to Vash insisting he was out there, fighting his way back to her?

She wasn’t done weighing the possibilities when the universe she’d been admiring seemed to answer: first with a soft shuffle behind her, then with a voice calling her name.

Expecting Naomi or someone from the medical staff making their rounds, she turned—and found herself facing none other than Chronica, standing a few steps behind her, exhausted but composed as ever.

“What are you doing here?” she asked as she stepped closer. “I assumed you were already asleep.”

“I… I wanted to—Why?” was all she managed, still reeling from the shock of seeing Chronica—and the realization that no one else seemed to know she’d arrived.

Chronica studied her in silence, as if she could see the threads of Meryl’s thoughts beginning to tangle.

She might have felt sorry for her, or perhaps her usual bluntness was, for once, exactly what the situation called for. Either way, instead of circling around the obvious or dwelling on the unimportant, she went straight to the point.

“We arrived back about an hour ago. For safety reasons, we had to be discreet—only part of the medical staff was informed we’d be returning.”

We.

That single word echoed like a dropped pin.

Did she mean her team? Some escort detail? Or...

Did we include him?

“You mean he’s… Are you saying he’s here?” Meryl asked, breath catching at the base of her throat.

Chronica nodded, allowing herself a rare smile.

“He’s here, I was going to wait until morning to tell you, but… since you’re awake…”

There was nothing more she needed to hear.

“Thank you,” Meryl muttered quickly, the brevity belying the depth of her relief. It wasn’t dismissal or ingratitude—it was simply all she could manage before urgency took over. Reaching for her crutches, the reinforced rubber tips struck the floor with purpose as she turned and started moving.

Chronica’s voice trailed behind her, telling her to take it easy—but it barely registered.

Her focus narrowed to a single goal: finding room 303.

This part of the ship was familiar territory, the distance short—but every step felt labored, turning what should have been a quick walk into an eternity. Her injured leg chose the worst possible moment to remind her of its limitations when all she wanted was to run—to see for herself that once again, against all odds, they'd found their way back to each other.

Pain and impatience threatened to consume her, but she refused to let them. She’d been kept from Vash by distance, by danger, by fate itself, and she’d fought through all of it. She wasn’t about to lose ground now to what she considered trivialities at this point. Not when he was this close.

The corridor stretched ahead, each room number bringing her closer. 299... 301... and then—

Room 303.

Stopping in front of the metallic door, she could hear her heart hammering, nerves buzzing beneath her skin. Calm. She had to stay calm.

Because this was it.

After all the waiting, all the uncertainty tearing her apart inside, this was when it would finally end—the instant she crossed the threshold.

Or at least, that’s what she believed… until a muted thud reached her ears, like a body crumpling to the floor on the other side.

Dread twisted in her gut.

Her shaky fingers fumbled for the control panel and somehow managed to activate it. She needed to know what the hell was going on—so much so that when the door began to slide open, she didn't wait for it to finish. As soon as the gap was wide enough, squeezing through, she abandoned her crutches and stumbled forward on pure adrenaline.

And there he was.

Instead of resting—safe and asleep, the way she’d hoped to find him—Vash was slumped on the floor beside the bed. One hand clung to the mattress, like he’d collapsed halfway to standing. 

“Vash?!” she cried, rushing toward him as fast as her body would let her. “What happened?”

Dropping to her knees in front of him, she ignored the sharp pull of pain just to see him up close.

Any joy she might’ve felt at finding him alive was immediately eclipsed by how wrong he looked: ghost-pale skin and a faint bloodstain seeping through the bandage on his neck—evidence the wound had reopened from the strain.

But what struck her most was his expression.

Vacant. Unseeing. As if he were staring straight through her, present in body but a million miles away.

"Hey… Vash?" The question came out again, despite her efforts not to sound desperate. "Are you alright? Can you hear me?"

No reply.

He sat there on the floor, his back resting against the side of the bed, making no move to acknowledge her at all. The only thing he managed was to lift one hand to his face and rub his eyes, like he couldn’t understand yet where he was.

While it was a good sign he was reacting, Meryl couldn’t stop the worry clawing at her. Vash had a history of falling into these fugue states, and after what he’d endured with that limiter, it made sense that he wasn’t fully present.

That knowledge didn’t make the situation any easier, though. She had to do something.

A doctor—that's who she should be calling instead of staring at him. Hell, she should've done it the moment she found him like this.

The last thing she wanted was to cut this reunion short—but she forced herself to move. One hand braced on the floor, she pushed herself up, ready to find help.

But then she felt it—his fingers brushing against her left hand.

As she turned back to him, he still seemed lost, like he didn't understand what was happening—but now his brow was furrowed, and his fingers fumbled weakly in her hand, trying to grasp it without much success, as if he was at least aware someone was in the room and didn't want them to go.

Did he even know it was her? Most likely not. But she couldn't shake the sense that her departure would somehow make his condition worse.

Once, he'd told her he perceived her in ways she couldn't begin to grasp—maybe that was what was happening now. Meryl didn't share his ability, but she swore that in that moment, an echo of that same inexplicable awareness washed over her, telling her she belonged here.

So, in the end, she let that instinct guide her and did what she'd always longed to do when she saw him like this—but had never had the chance to do or allowed herself before.

Her hands lifted, framing his face with aching care, gently coaxing his gaze back to hers.

"It's alright. Take all the time you need," she whispered, her thumb tracing his jaw while her other hand remained steady against his cheek. "However long it takes… I'll be right here, waiting for you to find your way back to me."

Tender as the gesture was, it didn't seem to make any difference. Vash kept staring through her, but that didn't discourage her. She held her ground, thinking all he needed was time.

And in the end, her patience was rewarded again—though not as she'd imagined. 

Vash, as always, found a way to reenter her life in the most unexpected way possible, because when the blankness finally fractured in his expression, giving way to confusion, then to a flicker of recognition—he didn't whisper her name, or tease her about how worried she looked, let alone make some dramatic declaration about how much he'd missed her.

Instead, he let his body speak for him.

Without warning, his arms swept around her with such sudden force that she gasped, nearly losing her balance. All hesitation was gone as he pulled her close—one hand threading into her hair to cradle the back of her head, the other locking around her waist with desperate intensity.

For a beat, shock pinned her where she was. Her mind struggled to catch up with what was happening—one second he'd been unreachable, locked in some place she couldn't follow, and the next he was clinging to her like she was the only solid thing left in his world.

Complaining was the furthest thing from her thoughts, though.

Equally determined to keep him close, her arms came up around his waist as she melted into him, her cheek finding the solid warmth of his chest, careful to stay clear of his injured neck.

'Is it really you?' his whisper reached her, broken and muffled against her shoulder."Please tell me you're really alive. Please tell me I'm not—" 

His words dissolved into something between a sob and a laugh of disbelief.

Meryl had no idea what he meant by that—if anything, she was usually the one left behind, worried sick he was lying in a ditch somewhere. 

But she didn’t need the full story. Not yet. 

Right now, they both just needed each other. 

"I'm alive," she told him, her own tears joined his  "And for the record, I’m glad you are too."

That small comment earned her the smallest, most watery laugh she had ever heard from him, but it felt like a step in the right direction.

Eventually, his desperate grip would soften into a gentler one, and he would pull back enough to cradle her face in his hands—as if still searching for that last bit of confirmation that she wasn't a dream.

It would be much later, though.

Meryl didn’t mind. Time stretched on in that hospital room, and even though her legs were starting to cramp from their awkward position on the floor, she stayed exactly where she was.

After all, she needed this too—maybe even more than he did.

For every time she’d pretended to be fine. Every night spent staring into empty space, wondering if he'd ever come back. For all the grief she'd never let herself feel.

He was here—warm and breathing and impossibly, stubbornly alive in her arms. This wasn't the reunion she had imagined—but how could anything be more perfect than having him back like this?

Love, for them, had never been neat or easy—but fierce, messy, and unshakably real. Forged in the space between loss and hope, and strong enough to survive everything that came between.

Chapter Text

The couch was too short, the lights too bright, and his neck throbbed like hell — but Vash wouldn’t trade his current position for anything, not even a real bed. He was stretched out across the pristine couch shoved into the corner of his hospital room, one arm draped dramatically over his eyes like this was some ancient stage play, legs dangling off the end with his slippers discarded somewhere on the floor. And yet, with his head resting — maybe a little too comfortably — in Meryl’s lap, he couldn’t remember feeling more content.

Meryl had argued it couldn’t possibly be comfortable, not with her bad leg propped on the ottoman and his movement restricted. But she hadn’t put up much of a fight on the subject, and while she wouldn’t admit it, she seemed just as satisfied with the arrangement as he was. Not that it stopped her from keeping up the pretense of disapproval.

“You’re going to ruin your back lying like that,” she muttered, not bothering to look up from the sleek Terran tablet she’d been given to follow the news.

“Worth it,” came his muffled reply. “I’ve already told you, no pillow’s as comfortable as you. My neck is deeply grateful for your services.”

“You’re impossible, you know,” she murmured at his little demonstration, but her fingers were already threading through his hair, betraying the fondness in her voice.

At that, he didn’t bother to argue. She was right, and he didn’t care anyway — not when he could cling to this little piece of heaven he’d been told he’d never experience again.

Almost a week had passed since Chronica rescued him from that lab and brought him aboard the Torian. Far from ideal as his situation remained, none of that mattered next to the overwhelming relief of knowing Morris had been bluffing about Meryl's demise.

Thanks to whatever cosmic push had reached him while the limiter tangled his thoughts, he'd figured that out — more or less. But confirming it firsthand? Actually reaching for her whenever he wanted, knowing she was real, knowing he had another chance to keep living by her side? Nothing could have compared to that.

Maybe that was why he’d become so unashamedly clingy since. Physical closeness had always come easily to them once they had  stopped fighting their feelings for each other, so this wasn’t anything new. What was new was his near-constant need for contact — and the way she met it without hesitation, even if that sometimes went against the rules.

If he wanted to find an explanation for it, surely it was because being like this was equal parts affection and remedy for what their latest separation had broken. In time, they would find their usual rhythm of closeness and independence again. For now, it simply felt right to indulge in the comfort of each other’s presence.

The medical staff, however, had taken some convincing to see it that way.

On the first day, when they walked in to find them still embracing each other after their reunion, they’d been understanding to a point. But that didn’t stop them from trying to separate the two — citing “medical concerns.”

"I hear what happened and I'm really sorry you had to go through it," the shift supervisor had said, looking genuinely apologetic, "but you both need space and quiet to heal properly, which you won't get if you spend all night wrapped around each other”.

Vash usually tried to see the other person’s point of view, even when they were wrong. But this time, he knew exactly what he needed — and it wasn’t something the Earth Federation could prescribe. The staff didn’t agree, and when they asked Meryl to leave, he only became more determined to get his way.

"Okay, but don't come crying to me later when you find me sneaking around to find her and reopening my wounds in the process," he said with a confident smile as he let the staff guide him back to the bed. "You can keep me in here, but that doesn't mean I won't find creative ways to try to leave it." 

Even when the shift supervisor muttered that Vash could make all the threats he wanted — it wouldn’t matter, because in his condition he wouldn’t get far anyway — Meryl held her tongue. She didn’t bother pointing out that hadn’t stopped him before. Some people, she’d learned the hard way, had to find out for themselves what happened when they underestimated Vash’s stubbornness.

Case in point: only half an hour after she’d reluctantly returned to her quarters, Naomi came knocking to say the hospital chief was asking if she’d mind staying the night — because Vash had already tried twice to leave his room and simply wouldn’t stay put, no matter what they did. Sedation was off the table given his status, and the staff was quickly running out of options.

So that’s how she ended up in the narrow hospital bed beside him that night, her head tucked against his good side while his arm held her close. That second reunion, quieter but no less intense, unfolded in hushed voices as they retraced what had happened — how he’d escaped, how she’d been rescued — trying to fill the gaps adrenaline and shock had left behind. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his gown when his stories made her worry; his grip at her waist tightened when hers did the same. When they finally reached the end, the full weight of what they’d nearly lost came crashing down — and once again, they dissolved into tears.

Raw and ungraceful as it was, the release left them lighter somehow. Exhaustion claimed them soon after, and they slept better than either had in months — despite the cramped bed and their injuries.

But even Vash pointing that out over breakfast couldn’t stop the return to protocol. The attending physician was polite but firm: last night had been a compassionate exception, and she would not be permitted to stay overnight again. No amount of “forceful negotiation,” as he put it with a pointed look at Vash, would change that decision.

It didn’t matter to either of them — they’d already gotten what they wanted. And to their surprise, that whole debacle made the staff more open to compromise. In the end, they struck a deal: Meryl could stay as much as she liked, so long as she kept up with her physical therapy and other obligations. The only condition was that she had to leave whenever Vash was due for questioning.

Vash thought the arrangement was perfect. Aside from his tendency to dodge bed rest whenever he could — usually to gravitate toward wherever Meryl sat — he became the model patient, if only to keep that small concession intact.

That’s how they slipped into a routine where his main concern was sharing her gentle touch, quiet conversations, and the simple comfort of knowing she was safe and within reach.

The ease felt so complete, so familiar, that he often forgot one crucial detail: he wasn’t a free man anymore.

Well, technically he wasn’t under arrest — he was under the protective custody of the Earth Federation, but the distinction was meaningless. He couldn’t leave, and if he tried, the consequences would be swift and severe, as one official had not so subtly implied during one of his visits.

The thought didn't particularly bother him. He'd always been someone who adapted to circumstances rather than fighting them, and nearly losing everything had only made him more appreciative of simple comforts.

Meryl, on the other hand, seemed to be processing their situation differently.

Even from where he was, Vash could feel the tension building in her posture with every passing minute. When her fingers stilled in his hair, he knew she’d either started turning over his legal status again or found something troubling in that tablet. Or maybe both — with her, it was always hard to tell.

“What is it?” he asked, shifting his arm aside to look at her. “Bad news?”

“Not really. Morris is still at large, but his network keeps falling apart, and tensions between Terrans and locals have been cooling down. There’s even talk of organizing a peace summit between both sides…”

“But?” Vash prompted.

“There’s no but,” she said quickly — though his arm was already lifting toward her from where he lay.

“I can always tell when one’s coming, Mer. You get this little crease right here—” His finger aimed for the spot between her eyebrows, only for her to swat it away with an exasperated huff.

“Don’t poke me while I’m trying to have a serious conversation!” she snapped, though the smile tugging at her mouth gave her away.

He grinned triumphantly. “See? Definitely a but coming.”

At that, her smile faltered, replaced by a shadow of concern. For a moment she wrestled with herself, weighing whether to say what had been nagging at her. In the end, her worry got the better of her, and she blurted:

“I was thinking... we could always leave this place, you know?' Looking down at him, she added, 'I'm sure we could find a way out together.”

He blinked, certain he'd misheard her.

"I'm sorry, what?" He pushed himself up. "Did Meryl Stryfe — former by-the-books insurance agent — suggest we stage a jailbreak?"

"Maybe I did."

“Who are you and what have you done with my girlfriend?”

That earned him a small punch in the arm.

"I'm serious!" The protest came out more flustered than indignant. "It's not like you haven't done it — and I didn't have to follow along."

He rubbed his arm absently, more amused than hurt. But as her words sank in, he shifted to sit up properly, no longer content to lounge casually with his head in her lap after she dropped this bomb. "I'm serious too. It’s not like you to suggest that kind of plan."

"I know, I know... But we need options," she pressed on. "Chronica said she was willing to change her opinion about you, but we haven't seen her since she rescued you. All we know is she's been stuck in diplomatic negotiations."

Vash opened his mouth to respond, but her worries came tumbling out in a rush. "I know that exonerating you isn't simple, but what if she's been rallying against you this whole time? What if it was never her intention to help you in the first place? What if she's already convinced everyone you're a threat and they're only waiting for the right moment to act on it?" Her pace quickened. "At least if we leave now, while we can, we'd have some control over what happens next. I know if we think this through we can find a way to—"

Before she could go any further, his hand found hers. The touch was tender, but sudden enough to cut through her rising panic. 

"Meryl," he said, his fingers tightening around hers. "Breathe. Think about what you’re really suggesting..."

Her shoulders tensed immediately. "I don't need breathing exercises, Vash! I'm perfectly fine. I'm just being practical about our situation." 

"Are you really?"

As blunt as his question came off, it was never his intention to sound accusatory, let alone condescending. All he wanted was for her to pause — to be sure she was thinking this through, not speaking from that edge of apprehensive sadness he'd noticed in her lately. Fortunately, she didn't seem angry with him. If anything, his direct approach had the effect he'd hoped for — it caught her off guard and, judging by her knitted brow, made her consider what he was asking.

“Look, It’s not like your fears aren’t unfounded,” he said, his free hand brushing her cheek to guide her gaze back to him. “I think we can trust Chronica this time, but you’re right — she could still turn against us.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “But there’s a but coming from you, isn’t there?”

A quiet laugh escaped him at her quip. “Alright, you caught me.” His thumb traced gently across her skin. “But let me put it this way. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life running from a planetary justice system? Always glancing over your shoulder, waiting for someone to catch up? Never able to settle anywhere — all because you’re with a wanted man?”

“You know I can take it. I’ve been through worse.”

"Yes, you have. And that's exactly why I want to put an end to that by doing things right this time."

Vash saw her lips part as if to reply, surely to tell him again that she didn’t mind. And he knew she would mean it — she’d already proven she would go to hell and back for him. But while he cherished that loyalty, he loved her too much to let her shoulder the consequences that always seemed to follow in his wake.

How he was supposed to prevent that — being who he was — remained to be seen. For now, starting with patience felt like the right call. Needing her to understand, he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles, silencing any protest while showing her what she meant to him.

When he looked up at her again, his expression was earnest. “The thing is, I don’t want to ruin the chance at a life where you’re safe and happy. It isn’t fair for you to be on the run because you want to be with me. I want you to have a good life with me — not despite me.”

Color rose in her cheeks as she ducked her head, visibly moved by his declaration. It had been more or less understood since the beginning that they were committed to each other in the long term, but this was the first time he'd spoken so openly about what life might look like for them both in the future.

Without having the heart to argue that, she conceded the point. He was set on betting everything on Chronica if it meant walking out of this place without the constant weight of worry at their backs. So, with a resigned sigh, she leaned forward to give him a small peck on the lips before sinking back against the couch.

“Damn it, Vash,” she said. “You can’t just go and say something like that without warning.”

He leaned sideways to rest his head against her shoulder, the gesture affectionate and a little needy — absolutely meant to coax a smile out of her.

“Why not? All of this has given me a lot of perspective. If I want to spend the rest of my life with you, shouldn’t I say it?”

"For Christ's sake, now it sounds like you're proposing!" She was laughing even as she gave him a playful push away from her shoulder. 

He grinned, undeterred by being moved. "Do you want it to be a proposal? Because I can make it one. I've already got some pointers, so it shouldn't take long…"

A discreet cough cut through the moment.

They both froze.

Standing awkwardly in the doorway was Kaelin, Chronica's assistant, clutching a datapad and failing to hide her wide-eyed mortification at what she'd interrupted.

"I'm sorry," she stammered. "I knocked, but no one replied, so I thought that…"

"It's okay," Vash said, sitting up straighter and giving Meryl space to compose herself. "What brings you here? Does another nice officer want to speak with me?"

"Commander Chronica asked me to fact-check a few details about your case," she said finally. "The Independent Council is reviewing it today, and she needs to verify some information before her testimony this afternoon."

"The Independent Council?" Meryl echoed, her earlier worry creeping back.

"I—" She glanced between them, suddenly uncertain whether she was even supposed to be sharing this information. But Vash's concern was clear, and Meryl's eyes were quietly pleading. The silence stretched, and she seemed to decide that backing down now would only make things worse.

"The Earth Federation transferred jurisdiction this morning. The session began a few hours ago, but Commander Chronica is scheduled to present her findings by noon. Her testimony will determine how the council proceeds."

"I don't know why we're even discussing this," Councilor Reeves snapped, slamming his fist against the table. "All rogue Independents belong in prison — sibling or not. That's the law." 

The chamber erupted instantly. Some representatives nodded in firm agreement, while others responded with audible scoffs and visible outrage at the blunt declaration. 

"Yes, but the law also defines a rogue as someone who abuses their Plant powers to endanger both humans and their own kind," Representative Martinez countered from her seat. "And Vash Saverem's case is anything but typical. Can he even be classified as such?" 

"He created plenty of destruction in his path!" someone shouted from across the room. 

"But it wasn't intentional, as far as we know!" a woman cut in from the back. "It was either Gunsmoke locals attacking him for his bounty or his brother — who's the real rogue we should be punishing!" 

"Which we can't do because Saverem helped him escape!" 

Arguments began to overlap as the debate spiraled, each point of view swallowed by the rising din of accusation and defense.

The gavel hit the sound block with a sharp crack, cutting through the noise.

"Order, please," Prime Councilor Samsa demanded — composed, but clearly finished with the entire situation. 

The noise tapered off gradually. One by one, heads turned in his direction, all looking surprised. He hadn't spoken much until now, and certainly never this firmly. 

“This council was assembled to deliberate, not to descend into chaos,” he continued. "We’re losing sight of the real purpose of this session. We are not here to argue whether Vash Saverem technically fits the rogue classification, or whether he broke the law by aiding his brother’s escape.”

He paused, letting the silence settle.

"The former is a complex philosophical matter that will inevitably lead us to question our species' role in this world. The latter is not — it's a matter of record. What we must decide now is whether punishment is warranted — and if so, which option serves our interests."

Samsa's gaze swept the room deliberately.

“Because if the goal is lasting peace, we need to ask ourselves: what outcome brings us closer to it? Retribution, or resolution?”

While not everyone seemed entirely convinced, the statement earned a unanimous round of nods.

Representative Martinez cleared her throat and raised her hand.

 "That's my main concern, to be honest. Our reputation is already in shreds with the locals after the whole Morris situation — and whether we like it or not, Saverem is now a very popular and beloved figure among them." 

She turned to Councilor Reeves directly. "If we make ourselves the villains in their eyes, there's no chance this colony will let us help — not in stabilizing their environment, and certainly not in mediating future conflicts."

Reeves sighed heavily, rubbing his temple. 

"I understand the political concerns, Representative. Believe me, I do. But isn't this setting a dangerous precedent? To show special treatment because someone is popular?" 

He straightened in his seat. "Since we're born, we're taught that we're more powerful than humans, yes — but never superior to them. That our strength comes with responsibility, not privilege." His voice carried genuine conviction. "It feels fundamentally wrong to let his actions go unpunished simply because the locals like him. What message does that send?"

"But our legal system considers mitigating circumstances when assigning guilt, and our brother certainly has them," Martinez countered. "Testimony from Miss Stryfe and many others paints a consistent picture: Vash Saverem has spent over a century helping others — often at great personal cost. Is it so hard to believe that his choice to aid his brother came not from criminal intent, but from that same misplaced compassion?"

From the far end of the table, someone scoffed.

“Well, of course she’s going to say anything to defend him. She’s his lover. Can we really trust her word as objective testimony?”

“If you wish to speak, Representative Hutchins, kindly raise your hand and wait your turn,” Samsa cut in smoothly. “As for Miss Stryfe, I can confirm she presented her testimony in a measured and impartial manner. And let us not forget — she is far from the only one who has spoken on Mr. Saverem’s behalf. People from all across Gunsmoke have reached out with character testimonies, many of whom have no personal connection to him whatsoever.”

Seeing that Hutchins gave him an unconvinced look — likely preparing to bring up his personal history regarding Independent-human relationships — Samsa didn't miss a beat.

"Luckily for all of us, while I am Prime Councilor, I am not the one who must decide for all of you whether Miss Stryfe's or any other testimony is valid. That responsibility falls to this council — each of you — to weigh the evidence and vote according to your judgment." 

As Kaelin entered the room, Samsa's expression brightened. He gestured for her to approach. "Besides, there's someone we haven't heard from yet, and I think no one would doubt her fairness."

But before he could continue, Kaelin stepped forward with visible hesitation. She leaned in to whisper something to him, her discomfort clear.

His momentary satisfaction faded. After listening, he gave a slight nod, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly.

"It appears Commander Chronica requires additional time before presenting her findings," he announced. "She has requested we postpone her testimony until she can ensure all relevant details have been properly reviewed." 

He lifted the gavel. "This session is adjourned until two o'clock this afternoon."

The chamber erupted once more, voices rising in demand for explanation — but Samsa had already stood, effectively ending the session despite the protests. He had shared all the information available to him; anything more would be speculation, and that served no one. Still, if his instincts were correct — if Chronica’s absence was about more than reviewing evidence — he could only hope she found clarity. And that, whatever decision she came to, she wouldn’t come to regret it.

"Commander? What are you doing here?" 

Chronica turned sharply, pulled from her review of Kaelin's files. Naomi stood a few meters away, concern plain on her face.

Of course. Out of all the people who could’ve found her right now, it had to be her.

She hadn’t expected anyone to come looking for her here. That was part of why she’d chosen this place. Chronica had barely visited Domina’s memorial since her death — certainly not often enough for anyone to expect her here, tucked away in this quiet corner of the Rec Room.

"I needed some time to think," she replied evenly, her attention drifting to the small stone marker, one of many nestled among carefully tended flowers and bathed in the sunlight filtering through the dome.

It was such a beautiful little spot, one could almost forget it was nothing but a hollow facsimile of a graveyard — a resting place for those who’d left no body behind. Like her sister.

Perhaps that was why she rarely came here. What was the point? Domina was gone from this world completely, and carving her name into marble didn’t change that.

Yet today, desperate as she was, she needed to grasp at any thread that might connect her to Domina — if only to help her sort out what to do next.

Unfortunately, it hadn’t helped. In the end, she’d had to excuse herself from the council entirely — and now Naomi was here, clearly intent on a conversation from the way she was approaching.

"I come here to think too," she said as she took a seat next to her on the bench. "Or when I miss her. Sometimes for both reasons at once."

Chronica shifted her weight uncomfortably. "I understand the thinking part," she murmured. "But missing her? You'd already ended things long before..." She trailed off, realizing how that sounded. "I meant—you'd both moved on."

"Moved on," Naomi repeated, a hint of something—sadness? irony?—in her tone. "Is that what you call it?" She looked back at the memorial. "Just because we couldn't make it work doesn't mean I loved her any less, Commander."

That should have brought comfort — hearing that Domina was still loved, still remembered.Instead, Chronica’s fingers curled slightly in her lap as an ache twisted in her chest, making everything worse.

The urge to scream was overwhelming — to call her a hypocrite to her face. If Naomi loved Domina as much as she claimed, then why had she been advocating for Vash behind everyone's back? Partnering with Vance in his defense? Shouldn't she be as furious as Chronica was? Maybe even working with her to demand justice instead?

She knew what had happened in Octovern — she knew what it had cost. None of it made sense, and Chronica was so damn tired of everything refusing to make sense.

Yet being who she was, she bit her tongue and said instead, with carefully measured calm,

"You loved her. You still love her. But you've spent this time defending him. I don't understand how you reconcile that."

Fantastic. So much for restraint. That comment — honest or not — was bound to set Naomi off. They’d probably end up arguing again, like at Domina’s farewell, when grief had made them say things they couldn’t take back.

But somehow, this time, Naomi didn’t lash out — didn’t accuse her of not doing enough to save Domina, like she had back then.

She just sat there, quiet. As if she’d been expecting that kind of comment all along.

After a beat, she said, "It's simple. Because he didn't kill her. If he had, this would be a completely different story — and you know that."

”But it feels like he did.”

"He didn't, though. It was his brother."

“He’s technically mine too — and I wanted him dead!”

Naomi sighed. Chronica could be so infuriatingly obtuse at times. 

"That's bullshit and you know it," she said flatly. "He wasn't your brother the way he was to Vash — or the way Domina was to you. She wasn't your twin, but you were born on the same day. You grew up side by side. That kind of bond…it’s the same love at its core, even if the form is different. That's why I can't believe you don't understand why Vash didn't give up on Knives — no matter how much pain he caused him."

"You can't compare Domina to that bastard."

"Of course not," Naomi said. "But if you'd been in Vash's shoes — if it had been Domina who lost her way — wouldn't you have tried to give her another chance? Tried to help her come back to herself?" 

The seconds stretched, heavy and suffocating, as Naomi’s question hung in the air. Chronica searched for an answer that wouldn't condemn her—but there wasn't one. 

Of course she would have tried to save Domina. She'd have moved heaven and earth to bring her sister back to who she'd been—to the person she'd loved before everything went wrong. 

Just like Vash had tried with Knives. 

She’d seen it in his memories. Knives hadn’t always been the monster who razed cities and killed his own kind. There had been someone else, once — someone Vash had loved enough to keep fighting for, even as it broke him apart.

And now the realization landed cold and certain:

Vash hadn’t done anything she wouldn’t have done herself.

Perhaps mistaking her lack of reply for anger — or simple detachment — Naomi sighed and stood abruptly, brushing nonexistent dust from her pants with a resigned air.

“Anyway, my break’s over,” she said, her voice neutral but stretched thin. “The council might be a mess right now, but on our end, Vance is scrambling — some of the plant domes up north are failing to thrive. And after Morris pulled his stunt, the locals barely trust us enough to get involved.”

"That sounds... difficult"

The response came out hollow. Inadequate. Pathetic.

An apology, years overdue. An acknowledgment — if nothing else — that Naomi had a point. But pride and shame tangled together, choking off what needed to be said.

When she finally looked up, ready to try, Naomi was already walking away. Her silhouette grew smaller against the sunlit memorial markers, fading into the distance like every other conversation Chronica had let slip away unfinished.

She stayed where she was, alone among monuments to the dead, and let the silence swallow what she'd meant to say.

A glance at her watch confirmed what she already knew: barely half an hour until the afternoon session reconvened. Thirty minutes to find words that had eluded her all day. Thirty minutes to decide if she'd finally tell the truth—or let her silence do the condemning for her. 

She stood, brushing off her uniform with mechanical precision, and turned away from Domina's memorial without looking back.

Chapter Text

Vash had grown accustomed to Rem's silence.

For over a year, his subconscious had been empty of her presence—no gentle guidance, no comforting smiles, no quiet reassurance reaching through the darkness to steady him when the weight of grief threatened to pull him under. He told himself it didn’t matter; Rem had never followed his schedule anyway, appearing when she deemed it necessary rather than when he needed her most.

But as much as it made sense — after all, she had been watching over him from the afterlife for more than a century and deserved her rest — it didn’t mean he was ready to let her go for good. Even more so now, he needed her advice — her voice telling him that everything would be all right, even if there was no way she could truly know.

So when he suddenly found himself in the old Rec Room, surrounded by the familiar scent of earth and growing things, he almost couldn’t bear the surge of joy and relief that swept through him. Despite all his fears, there she was once again — kneeling among the geranium beds just as he remembered, her hair catching the artificial sunlight, her hands moving with the same patient care he’d watched countless times as a child.

"There you are," Rem said, brushing soil from her palms as her face lit up. She pulled off her work gloves, eyeing him with obvious delight. "I was waiting for you—though I almost didn't recognize you with all that black hair."

As he crouched beside her, the thought struck him—what if she really hadn’t—

Her soft laugh cut through his worry. "I'm joking, sweetheart. A mother always knows." Reaching out, she ruffled his hair with familiar affection. "It suits you. Very distinguished."

Heat crept across his cheeks as he ducked his head with a sheepish smile. Even here, in a dream, her praise left him feeling like an awkward child. "I'm glad, I guess. Not like I had much choice in the matter."

"I know. I've been watching." A shadow of sadness crossed her face as she shifted to sit cross-legged among the flowers, turning her full attention on him. "I kept my distance — not because I wanted to, but because you needed the space to grow on your own."

“My own way,” he echoed, tilting his head back toward the dome’s false sky, where lazy clouds drifted past. He gave a short, uncertain laugh. “I don’t even know what that means anymore. "Most days I'm just... stumbling forward."

Her hand came to rest gently on his shoulder. When he glanced back at her, she was smiling with a radiant conviction he’d always cherished.

“Stumbling, perhaps,” she said, giving his shoulder a firm squeeze, “but moving forward. A year ago, you couldn’t have imagined this — learning to love someone, letting them love you back. Choosing a future instead of running from it. And carrying all that grief while you did it. That’s extraordinary.”

“Is it? I still feel like I’m figuring it all out.”

Rem tilted her head slightly, considering his words before turning her gaze to the flowers. Her fingertips brushed softly over the crimson petals, tracing them in quiet thought.

"I know. And that's exactly why you're ready for what comes next."

His heart kicked hard against his ribs. The walls separating this dream from the waking world felt suddenly thin, as if everything from the past few weeks had come crashing down on him at once — as if he could already see through to everything waiting the moment he woke up.

What comes next?

Did she mean Meryl? The council? Something worse he hadn't seen yet?

Was this a warning?

"Do you know what the hardest part of tending a garden is?"

The sudden shift jolted him like cold water. He blinked at her, then at the bloom she cradled in her palm, struggling to catch up.

"No," he admitted with a faint shrug. "Can't say I do."

"Sprouts are fragile, but once they bloom, you can't hover. Too much water and they drown. Too much fussing, and they weaken. You have to step back and trust what you've given them."

Ah. So that was where she was going with this. His mind connected the threads even before his mouth could catch up. "Like you did with me."

"And with Nai. I visited him too, you know. But every time, he lashed out at me. Eventually, I realized I wasn't helping him at all. His way back was a solitary journey — one he only managed to complete at the very end."

The thought struck him with equal parts hope and disbelief. But Rem probably knew things he didn't—things she couldn't or wouldn't explain in full.

"The principle applies to more than gardens," Rem continued, regaining some of her brightness. "It applies to everything you believe in. All the peace and love you've worked so hard to build—it's blooming, Vash. But that martyr's heart of yours might keep you from ever seeing it. You might never step back far enough to see how beautiful it's all become."

He wanted to respond, but the words wouldn't come. They never did with her. She had a way of distilling entire philosophies into a handful of sentences—simple on the surface, but packed with meaning he’d spend hours unraveling.

Unfortunately, he wouldn't have that luxury now. Even as she finished speaking, the dream was already fraying at the edges. The patch of geraniums before them blurred, shades of red bleeding into softer hues as he felt a familiar tug of someone very dear to him needing him.

When he turned back, Rem was fading too, dissolving into light and memory. But she was smiling—proud, knowing, like she'd expected this all along.

“She’s having a nightmare,” she whispered, her whole presence dissolving into nothingness with the dream itself. “Go to her. She needs you.”

"Wait—" He reached for her, desperate. "What did you mean about stepping back? About what comes next?"

But there was nothing left to touch, only her warmth fading from his fingertips.

“You’ll understand soon enough. Trust yourself. Trust her. I’ll see you soon, Vash.”

The haze of the dream slipped away as reality set in, and his focus shifted to the distressed sounds Meryl was making beside him. She must have dozed off, tucked against his good shoulder, but she looked anything but peaceful. She stirred restlessly, her breath catching in a way that made his heart tighten. A soft whimper escaped her, barely audible, as her fingers curled into the fabric of his hospital gown, clutching it like a lifeline.

"Hey, Mer," he murmured, shifting carefully so he could see her face. Even in the dim glow of the monitors and the small lamp by the couch, the worry was visible. "It's okay. You're okay…"

No matter how much he repeated that, it seemed that it wasn’t making any difference. Whatever nightmare had her in its grip, it wasn’t letting go easily, so he changed tactics. His hand rose to brush her hair back in a slow, tender rhythm, hoping she might wake calmly. For a moment it seemed to work — her features eased, the tension softening beneath his touch — but the relief didn’t last.

Her eyes flew open, and she lurched upright with a sharp gasp. Panic flared across her face—raw, unguarded—before the haze of confusion settled in as waking caught up with her.

"Vash? What…? Where…?"

"I'm right here." He managed a reassuring smile despite the worry knotting in his stomach. She sounded so small, so unlike herself, that it made his heart ache. "Bad dream?"

Meryl blinked, her gaze darting around the hospital room like she needed to confirm where she was. Once reassured, she rubbed at her eyes, though her breathing was still coming too fast.

"I'm sorry, I must've fallen asleep right after you," she said at last, apparently more calmed now—though a nervous little laugh slipped out anyway. "Who knew deliberations could drag on so long, huh?"

He nodded, reaching up to brush her cheek with the backs of his fingers. She leaned into the touch immediately, releasing a soft, shaky breath.

"This is my first time abiding by the law," he said wryly. "So I can't say for sure, but yeah… it does seem excessive."

That earned him a quiet huff of amusement, and she shifted back against his side, seemingly trying to fall asleep again—as if nothing had happened, though he could still feel the faint tremor running through her.

It didn't escape him that she'd deliberately dodged his question about the nightmare, but he let it go. With the verdict looming, neither of them was in the right headspace for that conversation. So instead, he slipped his arm back around her, offering comfort—to her, and just as much to himself.

Silence settled over them, heavy and waiting. The only sound was the monitors—steady beeps measuring out seconds neither of them wanted to count.

It had been hours since Kaelin had come with news about the council and a list of questions from Chronica—simple fact-checking, she'd said. But they'd all sounded so specific, and at times even personal, that he couldn't shake the feeling there was more to them than Chronica was letting on.

Because how could she have known so many details about him and Knives’s early days? About the Mesa Probe? She’d even asked about the apple tree. That wasn’t the kind of information you could find anywhere—unless someone had asked him directly or gone through his memories. Perhaps something had happened when she found him back in the lab, but there was no way for him to know; he’d been barely conscious back then.

All of it—the sense that things were building toward some inevitable culmination, without knowing which way it would go—reminded him of standing alone in an empty street at high noon, hand poised above his gun, waiting for the other to move first. That endless moment when everything hung suspended—the world narrowing to breath, heartbeat, and the certainty that everything was about to change.

Back then, it had always ended with a bullet.

This time, however, it would end with a knock at the door.

They both went still. Meryl shifted upright, and he felt his own spine straighten instinctively—that old reflex of bracing for whatever came next.

It could have been nothing: a nurse making rounds, a staff check, anyone at all. But from the look they exchanged, they both somehow knew that wasn’t it. For better or worse, the moment they’d been waiting for had finally come.

The knock came again, more insistent.

Vash drew a slow breath, his pulse thrumming in his ears. “Come in,” he called.

The door slid open with a faint mechanical hiss, and an officer stepped inside. She was young and didn’t look hostile, but her face was so neutral there was no hint of what kind of news she carried.

“Good evening, Mr. Saverem, Ms. Stryfe,” she said politely. “I’m Officer Klein. I’m here to inform you that the council has reached a verdict.”

“Well, it’s about time.” Vash managed a small smile as he stood. “So what is it? Am I free to leave or not?”

“I don’t have that information. I’m just the messenger, sir. I only know I’m to escort you both to see Prime Councilor Samsa.”

Both of you?

Meryl pushed herself up from the couch and moved to Vash's side. “Wait—why me? I don’t mind, really, but I was never on trial, as far as I know.”

“Again, I don’t have that information,” the officer replied quickly, though they could see she was already growing fidgety as she gestured toward the door. “So, if you would, please come with me. He is waiting for you.”

Absolutely not.

That’s what Vash wanted to say. Kaelin had hinted this summons would come eventually—he’d braced for it. But not once had she mentioned Meryl would be involved.

So where was this coming from?

And why now, without so much as an explanation?

His instincts screamed at him to object, to put distance between her and whatever mess he'd dragged her into. But before he could open his mouth, Meryl’s hand found his arm.

"It's okay," she said, meeting his worried look with that same fierce resolve he’d come to rely on. "Like I said, I don’t mind."

“But Meryl—!”

The protest died on his lips when she rolled her eyes at him, like he wasn't getting it.

"I know you're worried," she said, stepping closer, lowering her voice enough so Klein wouldn’t hear. "But look at it this way—if everything goes downhill, at least we’ll be in the same place to plan that jailbreak."

Despite everything, a smile tugged at his lips. She was joking, but only so much—because she had a point. The last thing he needed was a repeat of Jude's botched rescue—stuck on opposite sides of a bad situation with no way to help each other.

Her grip on his arm, though, was tighter than it needed to be, her fingers pressing in with tension she was trying to hide. She was scared too. And yet, she was standing here, ready to walk into the unknown beside him. 

He drew a steadying breath and covered her hand with his, then nodded to Klein. "All right. Lead the way."

They followed the officer in silence, their footsteps quiet against the corridor floor. As they walked, Rem's words returned to him—gentle, steady, sure: Trust yourself. Trust her.

He was trying. He truly was.

He just hoped it would be enough.

"God of Bad Luck."

That's what Wolfwood had called him once. Even after all these years, Vash couldn't tell if it had been a clumsy attempt to cheer him up or genuine amazement at how catastrophically things kept going wrong for him. Maybe both. But the comment had stuck with him—even back then, when all he could think about was running. Running from the fact that everyone had rejected him, looked at him like a monster. Running from the fact that Meryl had been so terrified of him she couldn't stand to be near him.

Thankfully, time had passed and that moment had become nothing but a distant memory. So for a while, he'd stopped thinking about that old nickname.

At least until now.

Because deep down, he was now sure Wolfwood had been right all along.

He was the God of Bad Luck. Not because disaster followed him—though it had. Not because he couldn't find happiness—he had, against all odds.

But because, when everything he'd ever wanted was finally within reach, the only thing standing in his way was himself.

And now here he was, pacing the ship's Rec Room. He’d asked to come here under the excuse of needing time to consider Samsa’s proposal — but in truth, he needed to breathe. That council room was becoming more and more suffocating by the minute.

Meryl had followed, but kept her distance, settling on a bench near the entrance while he walked.

Nearly half an hour had passed since then, and his thoughts remained a mess.

The meeting played on repeat, Samsa’s voice sharp and present, like Vash had never left the room.

“Simply put, we decided we want to offer you a deal.”

“A deal?” they’d both said at once.

"Perhaps I shouldn't say this," Samsa admitted after a pause. "While some of us fought for full exoneration, others feared it would set a dangerous precedent."

He leaned forward, folding his hands on the table.

"But the good news is, in the end, we all agreed it would be wrong to punish you, especially after everything you've done for the people of this planet and for us."

Vash sighed and dragged a hand down his face. Then he slumped forward, elbow on the table, half-hunched with his hand covering his mouth—as if unsure whether to laugh, feel frustrated, or say thank you. He’d expected to either walk out a free man or go back to being an outlaw. Not this.

Not a gray area.

Not a deal.

Noticing how overwhelmed he was, Meryl stepped in for him.

"Well, that’s great—I guess? I mean, it depends on what exactly this deal entails."

"Of course." Samsa pulled out a datapad showing a map of Gunsmoke, red dots scattered across the screen. "Basically, we want you to oversee these Plant installations currently struggling in the region. After the Morris incident, trust between Terrans and locals has fractured badly. These systems can't function without cooperation, and right now, cooperation is in short supply."

Vash practically grabbed the device, leaning in to study the map more closely. His heartbeat picked up—not just from excitement, but from the sheer weirdness of being consulted. Like he wasn’t a problem to solve, but a solution to offer.

Samsa smiled at the reaction. "You'd be on probation, technically. But in truth, you'd be doing a great service—helping to rebuild trust and maintain peace between all three groups: Terrans, Gunsmoke locals, and Plants."

"But Morris is still at large, isn't he? If he reappears, it would complicate things no matter what I do."

Samsa’s tone shifted, more serious now. “Morris is our responsibility. We’re handling the search and any consequences that follow. That’s our mess to clean up, Mr. Saverem. Not yours.”

He gave a brief update on their efforts to locate Morris—though it was clear he didn’t want to elaborate. Then, just as smoothly, he moved on.

What followed was a methodical breakdown of terms. Scope of oversight. Length of probation. Resources available.

Housing. Transportation. Communication protocols.

All of it laid out with practiced calm.

The kind of logistics that made perfect sense on paper, but felt surreal when applied to his own life.

That didn’t mean Vash had real complaints, though. If he took a step back, he had to admit—what they were offering sounded pretty great.

All the lingering unease from earlier began to fade the more he listened. The work genuinely sounded like a good fit: meaningful, hands-on problem-solving, the kind of thing he’d always gravitated toward. And the support structure they were offering was more than fair—generous, even.

It was exactly the kind of opportunity he would’ve jumped at without hesitation if his life had turned out differently.

Once he’d apparently covered everything, Samsa turned to Meryl.

"As for you, Ms. Stryfe—for this to work, people need to see what Mr. Saverem is actually accomplishing. Both the locals and our own people. We'd like you to report on his work through written updates distributed to leadership and the general population."

"Sure, I can do that," she said, though her tone wavered slightly. "I’ve written reports before, but that sounds more like journalism—and I haven’t exactly..."

"Isn't that what you've been doing with your broadcasts?” Samsa asked. “We're asking you to do what you already do—tell a story. Present the facts in a way people can understand and trust. The difference is format. Written documentation has broader reach than broadcasts, and frankly, it's far less inflammatory. As we've seen lately, cameras tend to... complicate things. Especially in sensitive situations."

Meryl shifted in her seat, visibly uncomfortable—likely thinking of how Morris had used cameras to twist the narrative. How filming Jude’s testimony had led straight to his demise.

If Samsa noticed, he didn’t show it.

"This arrangement does keep you both in the same location—working toward the same goal. The council saw your involvement as essential, Ms. Stryfe. You left quite an impression. And frankly, we all agreed you're the one person guaranteed to keep Mr. Saverem cooperative."

“But speaking personally…” he added, smirking now, “the romantic in me finds that rather ideal. My wife would certainly approve—she’s never been fond of us working apart. I imagine it’s much the same for you two, isn’t it?”

Vash caught the flush creeping up Meryl’s face.

"That's because we work better together," she replied a bit too quickly. "You wouldn't be getting as good a deal otherwise."

“So we’ve heard.” Samsa’s grin widened as he turned back to the datapad, outlining more final details.

Back in the present, the memory made Vash smile despite everything. She’d been so determined to steer the conversation back to business—but not before he’d seen it. That flash of pride when she’d said we work better together, like she was honored that it was true.

It reminded him of that first morning after November City, when she’d laid out her broadcast plan with such fierce determination—so focused on proving she could be useful to him. So determined to earn her place beside him, as if she hadn’t already proven, a hundred times over, that she belonged there.

He’d told her she was amazing that morning. Meant it then. Meant it even more now.

But as Samsa continued outlining the terms—and Meryl leaned forward, asking questions, already piecing together how to make it work—Vash felt his initial enthusiasm start to slip away, bit by bit.

Because she seemed so ready to embrace this opportunity. The culmination of all her efforts to give him a peaceful life.

Him, on the other hand… wasn’t.

His pacing slowed as he realized he'd wandered into a quieter corner of the Rec Room—one filled with trees. Older than the newer greenery planted elsewhere, these stood taller, more established, their trunks thicker, leaves whispering softly under the filtered light.

“…You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered as recognition hit, stepping closer to run his fingers along the bark.

Apple trees.

An entire row of them. Bigger than the one waiting for him in the Mesa Probe.

The universe wasn’t done with its messages, huh?

Feeling completely wrung out, he sank down with his back against one of the trunks, arms wrapped around his knees, chin resting on top.

He decided then to let the Rec Room work its magic one last time. But instead of admiring the greenery or the filtered light mimicking sunset, he shut his eyes, turned inward, and let the sounds around him guide him toward calm.

It didn't take long. The soft rustle of leaves, the steady thrum of the nearby Plant, his own heartbeat—all of it folded into a quiet rhythm. His worries still clung to the edges like dissonant notes, but like this, he could handle them.

When he slipped into this state, time lost all meaning. He might have sat there indefinitely if not for the familiar footsteps that wove themselves into the harmony.

“So there you are,” 

Opening his eyes, he found Meryl standing only a few feet away, looking down at him. The artificial evening light framed her like a vision from a dream—warm glow catching in her hair, turning her into a silhouette almost too soft to be real.

The only thing that broke the illusion was her expression—not angry, not quite amused, but threaded with exasperated kindness. Like she was deciding whether to comfort him or kick him.

Which was fair enough.

"Hey." He managed a weak smile. "Sorry I made you walk all the way out here with that leg."

"It's fine. I needed to move anyway." She closed the distance and leaned back against the tree trunk next to him. "And I needed to know if you were okay."

"To be honest, I really don't know," he admitted. "I should be. But—"

"But?"

"It's difficult to explain."

"Try me. I'm listening."

Vash hesitated for a second. That old instinct—the one that had always told him to keep things buried, to carry it alone—whispered again. But as soon as it did, he shut it down completely.

The realization surprised him. Maybe he wasn't a lost cause after all.

“The problem is, I want to take the deal,” he began, his eyes fixed on the horizon. “I really do. And having you by my side while I do it? Doing something you love, too? That’s… yeah. That’s amazing.”

He shook his head, frustration creeping back in.

“But the more I feel like I want to say yes… the more I feel like I can’t. And it pisses me off.”

“I can see why,” she said, sounding sympathetic—and maybe a little sad. “I was worried you didn’t want it because you would feel trapped. Or that you’d say yes to keep me away from danger. But… this—it seems more complicated than that.”

“I’ll admit you’re not entirely wrong,” he said, frowning slightly. “Part of me wants to say no—after more than a century living by my own rules, it’s hard to answer to someone else. Not to mention, it wasn’t that long ago these people had a bounty on me. And then there’s the part that wants to say yes… just to keep you safe. Especially after everything you’ve been through.”

He’d half-expected her to argue—that she didn’t need protecting, that she could take care of herself. But nothing came. Maybe she knew it was a losing battle. Maybe she was too focused on him to say anything else. Whatever the reason, he was grateful she didn’t interrupt 

“But the main reason is what you said—it’s more complicated than that. Because I keep thinking: what if I settle down, and I’m living this peaceful, amazing life… and out there, there’s another Morris? Or worse—another Knives, waiting to happen?”

"Vash, that's—"

"I know I can't save everyone." The admission burst out before she could finish. "But how am I supposed to just... exist here? Comfortable. Safe. Loved. While people are still out there suffering—people I could help?"

If she said anything, he didn’t hear it. The spiral had him now—and it wasn’t letting go.

“Who says I get to stop? Who says I get to have what so many people never even got the chance at?” He paused, guilt rising in his throat. “Who says I deserve it?”

As soon as those last words left him, silence crashed down between them.

Not the peaceful kind they often found once they'd reached understanding. This was the kind of silence that rang in your ears once the noise had stopped—raw, heavy, and unbearable.

Because Meryl wasn’t saying anything.

That wasn’t like her. Whether she was furious, understanding, or some volatile mix of both, she always responded when he spiraled like this.

Vash stayed where he was, hands still pressed to his knees, breathing hard. Part of him felt lighter—like he’d finally set down a weight too heavy to carry. But with each passing second, the dread only grew.

Fearing the worst, he lifted his head and looked her way—and immediately wished he hadn't.

Meryl stood there trembling, fists clenched at her sides, eyes bright with barely contained emotion. Hurt radiated from every line of her body—the set of her shoulders, the way she held herself so rigidly, as if one wrong move might shatter what little composure she had left.

God, he'd really done it this time.

She was finally fed up with him.

Vash was on his feet in an instant, placing himself in front of her.

"Mer, I'm sorry." He lowered his head, hands finding her arms as he tried—unsuccessfully—to meet her gaze. "I know I'm making this harder than it needs to be. I know the deal is good, and I should say yes—and I will, if that's what it takes for you to—"

That somehow made everything worse. She pulled out of his grasp, unable to stay still.

"I'm not angry because of the stupid deal! You really think that's what this is about?!" 

"I—" He faltered. "Isn't it?"

A bitter laugh escaped her. Then, to his horror, tears began tracking down her cheeks.

"I'm angry about what you said." Her voice broke as she finally looked at him. "Do you know what you're actually saying when you ask that question?"

Question? What question was she—

Who says I deserve it?

Oh.

"Do you even hear yourself?" She shook her head hard, the motion sharp with pain. "When you say that—you're not just doubting yourself. You're insulting all of us."

"You're saying Rem was wrong. That Wolfwood was an idiot for believing in you. That Jude died for nothing." Each name hit him square in the chest, and each one struck deeper. "Livio. Milly. Every stranger whose life you saved who never even knew your name. Even Knives—even him—at the very end, decided you were worth saving."

Then the anger ebbed, like a wave pulling back to reveal something far more fragile underneath.

"And me?" She couldn't look at him anymore, her focus dropping somewhere near his chest. "What about me, Vash?"

Not giving him the chance to speak, she pressed on."I gave you everything. My trust. My hope. My whole goddamn heart. Because you're worthy of it. Because you're the kindest person I've ever known. The bravest. The most selfless."

She lifted her sleeve and wiped roughly at her face, first one cheek, then the other. The gesture was quick, almost impatient—as if she could rub the feelings off along with the tears.

"So choose what you want. But don't you dare say stuff like that again. Because it doesn't just hurt you—it hurts me, too."

Vash opened his mouth, desperately searching for a way to make it right—an apology, an explanation, anything that might undo what he'd done. But all he could see was Meryl, standing there, trying her best to stop crying because of him.

All these years, he’d kept her at arm’s length—telling himself it was to protect her. To shield her from the danger that followed him like a shadow. And now, when they were finally together—when he no longer had the strength to be without her—he’d still managed to hurt her. Not through violence. Not through chaos.

But by being cruel to himself.To the man she had trusted with her heart.

And for someone like Meryl—who loved so profoundly, so devotedly—that was the deepest wound he could’ve left.

So he didn’t wait. He couldn’t.

Before another second passed with her feeling so wronged by the person who loved her just as fiercely, he closed the distance and pulled her into his arms. She went rigid the moment he touched her, and part of him braced for it—for her to shove him away, to tell him she was done. It would break his heart if she did. But even that wouldn’t come close to the pain he’d already caused her. So he drew her closer.

"I'm so sorry, Meryl," he blurted, blinking hard against the sting in his eyes. "You're right. I shouldn't have said that."

The only answer he got at first was the subtle way she tried to squirm out of his embrace—not to escape him, but as if her emotions had nowhere else to go. But as the seconds passed, little by little he felt the tension in her shoulders begin to ease. Her fists, once clenched tightly against his chest, began to loosen. And after a long moment, she finally melted into him, her arms sliding around him in return.

“Yes. Yes, you shouldn’t,” she muttered, releasing a breath that sounded almost like a sigh—quiet, tired, but no longer sharp with anger. “So don’t ever say it again.”

Relief nearly buckled him. He buried his face against her temple and pulled her closer, terrified she might disappear. His hand came up to cradle her head, fingers threading gently through her hair.

“I won’t,” he promised quickly, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Just… don’t be mad anymore.”

A tiny laugh escaped her as she pulled back enough to look at him.

“Only if you promise me something first.”

“Anything,” he replied without hesitation.

“Promise me you’ll try to see yourself the way I see you. Because that’s the only way you’ll ever choose a future you truly deserve.”

At that, Vash felt a knot rise in his throat—sudden and sharp, like everything he’d ever wanted to believe about himself was straining to break through. Doubt surged, threatening to pull him under, but he pushed it back. He needed to meet this moment fully—steady, sincere, and unflinching.

"I promise." He cupped her face with both hands, tilting her chin up to see him properly—hoping she could read the truth in his expression.

Apparently convinced, at last she smiled at him with that same spark he’d missed so much. And it felt like sunlight breaking through.

Because long ago, he’d placed his own heart in her hands too—and as his hurt had been hers, so was her happiness now his. And all he wanted was to see her light up like this, again and again, for as long as she’d have him.

The rush of love was overwhelming—so complete it demanded expression. So he began kissing her. Softly. Reverently. Her forehead. Her still-wet cheeks. The bridge of her nose. Each one carried meaning: apology, gratitude, a new promise.

"Stop," she told him through laughter—but the way she leaned into every kiss said otherwise.

When her lips found his, neither of them were laughing anymore.

Kissing Meryl had always set off every spark inside him. But this time, as it deepened—desperate, urgent—it was different. It was everything they'd held back: fear and relief, love and promise, all bleeding together until he couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

Time stopped meaning anything. Could’ve been seconds. Could’ve been minutes. All he knew was her—the taste of salt from tears, the warmth of her breath, the solid, undeniable realness of her in his arms.

Vash kept his eyes closed for a moment. His hands still framing her face. Her arms still around him. The steady rhythm of her breathing syncing with his.

Above them, the apple trees whispered in the artificial breeze.

Within that melody, he found the last bit of clarity he’d been searching for.

This was what Rem had meant. What came next.

It didn't matter where they were sent or how long the road stretched. It didn't matter if he stumbled, if doubt crept back in, if the old fears returned. Because she'd be there. And he'd be there for her.

Any future with her was worth choosing — as long as he was brave enough to take it.

And so for the first time in his long, long existence, Vash believed he was ready to live it.

Chapter Text

Five days.

That’s how long Chronica had managed to avoid Vash the Stampede and Meryl Stryfe since her testimony before the Council.

It hadn’t been easy, considering the two of them had been everywhere—checking documents, reviewing travel routes, coordinating with Earth Fleet personnel about their departure. Always together. Always in the way.

Good thing they were finally leaving.

From her vantage point on the catwalk above the hangar bay, Chronica had a clear view of them below. Vash and Meryl stood at the center of an impressive crowd—for a former wanted man, anyway. Not just Vance and Naomi, or even Kaelin, but higher-ranking officials too: Samsa and his wife, Alma. A handful of Council representatives.

Meryl said something, arms crossed, that slight smile on her face—and the whole group burst into laughter. A moment later, Vash’s voice carried up through the vast space, jovial and relaxed, as he draped an arm around Meryl’s shoulder.

Such a display of ease shouldn’t have irritated her.

But it did.

Chronica exhaled slowly and turned away from the railing.

They looked so pleased with themselves, so happy, it was as if everything it had taken to get here had already been neatly swept aside. As if it had all been easy. As if they could waltz in and land on their feet, clean and simple.

She knew better, of course. Neither of them had come out of this unscathed—she'd been there for most of the messy parts, after all.

Not that it stopped her from feeling a little petty. Not that she'd ever admit it. Not even to herself.

"Enough of this," she muttered to herself, wondering why she was even here in the first place when there was actual work to do—Morris was still out there somewhere, and the latest intel suggested he was running out of places to hide. That should have been occupying her thoughts, not whatever farewell tour was happening in the hangar below.

Pulling out her datapad, she went through the morning's reports. Morris had been spotted near one of the outer settlements three days ago, trying to—

The sound of footsteps clanging against the metal staircase to her left made her pause. She looked up in time to see a familiar shock of black hair cresting the top of the stairs.

Damn it was all she could think as Vash spotted her and started toward her.

"Commander Chronica," he said, with what sounded like genuine relief. "I'm glad I got the chance to run into you before we left. I've been meaning to talk to you for a long time."

Her grip tightened on the datapad. "Why? It's not like we have any pending business."

"We beg to differ." He raised a hand and waved down at the hangar floor.

Chronica followed his gaze to Meryl, who was already waving back, looking a bit too amused for Chronica's liking. At least she wasn't coming up, giving him a small nod before seamlessly returning to her conversation with the gathered officials.

To her frustration, she'd fallen into their little trap. If she'd known they were coming, she would have left before they reached her. But they'd waited until she was distracted, giving her no chance to escape.

How they'd even known she was up here, she couldn't say. She'd chosen this spot precisely because it wasn't visible from where they were. But it was too late to puzzle over logistics. Vash was already settling in beside her, elbows on the railing, as casual as if they were about to have a routine conversation between colleagues.

"Don't worry, I'll be quick. I know how you feel about me." He paused, seeming to reconsider his words. "Actually—this is the first time we've really talked like this, isn't it? I wouldn't blame you if this feels awkward."

Awkward? That was an understatement.

All she wanted was to turn around and leave him there—it didn't matter how life-changing this conversation might be, or that this could very well be the only time they'd ever speak again.

But some part of her—the polite part, maybe even the curious part—made her stay. That didn’t mean she was going to make it easy for him. She narrowed her eyes and kept quiet, waiting for him to say his piece so he could leave.

Vash immediately caught on to her apprehension, but he didn’t seem fazed by it. Instead, he took a slow breath and continued, his demeanor losing that easy lightness from before.

"I just wanted to say thank you. From me, and from Meryl. For saving her when I couldn’t. For coming back for me." He turned to face her fully. “And for what you said to the Council—about what you saw when you rescued me."

Chronica stared at him, frozen.

He wasn't simply thanking her—he was acknowledging it. The sync. What she'd seen. What she'd let herself feel.

He knew. How he’d figured it out, she had no idea, but he knew it had changed the way she saw him. That she’d let those memories—his memories—shape what she’d told the Council.That she’d vouched for him not just on facts, but on what she’d felt.

And the worst part? The way he was looking at her now—with genuine gratitude, that soft sincerity—told her he had no idea how mortifying this was. He thought he was being kind. Thoughtful, even. He had no clue he was making it worse.

"As for rescuing you both—I was doing my job." Her voice came out sharper than intended as her grip tightened on the datapad. "And the other thing. The sync. That was simply a fortunate accident that brought relevant intel to my attention that I couldn't, in good conscience, withhold from the Council."

She could see it the moment the words left her mouth—the way the corner of his lips twitched. Not mocking, exactly. More like he could see straight through her.

That sent another wave of irritation rippling inside her. No matter how much she knew about him now, he didn't know anything about her—what she was really thinking or feeling. No one did. No one probably would, now that Domina was gone.

The need to make that clear—that he had no right to make assumptions about her—overrode what little logic she had left. 

"I hope you don't think any of this means I forgive you." She snapped it out, sounding more furious than she'd intended. "What I saw—what you showed me—doesn't erase what you did. What you chose."

Vash’s expression faltered, flickering between acceptance and pain. His memories had shown her how he carried guilt, so she knew exactly what she was doing by saying this—twisting the knife, like he’d unknowingly done to her.

Part of her felt sick because of it. But another part didn't, because it was the truth and he needed to hear it.

Despite her words, he didn't walk away. He straightened and let out a small, almost resigned sigh.

"I never expected you to," he said quietly. "And I don't hold it against you."

His gaze drifted back down to the hangar bay, where Meryl was still talking with the others. She was accepting a bouquet of flowers from Alma, dabbing at the corner of her eyes with one hand, while Vance and Naomi spoke with the tech crew doing the final checks on the ship that would take them back to Gunsmoke.

"My point is... Forgiveness and healing—they're not always the same thing. I haven't even forgiven my brother for what he did. Maybe I never will. But I'm healing anyway."

Before Chronica could say anything, he pressed on.

"There are a lot of people I have to thank for that. And whether you like it or not, you're one of them. Because you gave Meryl and me a chance to have a future. So it didn't feel right to leave without you knowing that."

He stepped away then. That could have been the end of it, but to Chronica's surprise, he paused at the top of the stairs, glancing back at her over his shoulder.

"So even if you don't forgive me—that's okay. What matters is that you can heal from all the pain Knives and even I brought to you." His tone was soft, earnest. "From the bottom of my heart—I hope you can."

Vash gave her a small, almost hesitant wave—then was gone, his footsteps echoing down the metal stairs.

Chronica watched from above as he made his way back across the hangar floor. Meryl didn't notice him approaching at first—she was still deep in conversation with Alma and the others. Vash slipped up behind her and said something close to her ear. She jumped slightly, then turned and swatted his arm, but she was smiling. Laughing, even.

Within seconds, they'd folded back into the group as if nothing had happened. As if their little encounter had never taken place.

Not that it had been particularly emotional or transcendent, Chronica told herself. Honestly, it would have been perfectly fine if he'd said nothing at all. Better, even, because the conversation hadn't offered any closure. She still resented him. He didn't expect forgiveness. The status quo was technically the same as before.

So why wouldn't her vision stop blurring?

Why did the tears keep rolling down her cheeks no matter how many times she tried to wipe them away?

Down below, the farewell was wrapping up. The crowd was thinning, people stepping back to let Vash and Meryl move toward their ship. She watched them walk side by side, his hand finding hers as they said their last goodbyes.

This was it. They'd board that transport, return to Gunsmoke, and she'd likely never see either of them again.

She waited for the relief to come.

It didn't.

But neither did regret. Or bitterness. Or that tight, angry knot that had lived inside of her for weeks.

What she felt instead was... different. Like a part of her that had been gripping too hard for too long had finally let go.

Peace, maybe. Though that seemed too simple a word for it.

Chronica wiped her eyes again and let out a slow breath.

She didn't know what to call this feeling. Only that it felt like she'd been given permission—not from him, but from herself—to stop standing frozen in place. To take a step forward, even if she didn't know where she was going yet.

Even if Domina couldn't walk beside her anymore.

She turned from the railing, datapad still clutched in one hand, and started back toward her office.

There was work waiting. Morris to track down. A ship to keep running.

Her life, somehow, moving forward once again.

Carlito wiped the sweat from his forehead and set another box of books by the library door.

Fourth one today. At this rate, he'd be hauling books until next week.

All because his father had decided—out of nowhere—that the church's east wing needed to become a proper medical facility. Never mind that the back consultation room had worked fine since forever. Never mind that Mesa Probe barely had enough people to fill the pews on a good Sunday, let alone need a whole wing for patients.

“They’re building a new Plant Dome,” his father had said, like that explained everything. “Ten klicks west. Once that thing’s up and running, we’ll get more traffic. Sick folks. Accidents. We need to be ready.”

"Pero papá!"

"No me discutas, Carlito." That tone. The one that meant he had made up his mind whether he liked it or not. "More people means more injuries, more sickness. I'm not going to treat patients in a storage closet like we did with Vash when we have perfectly good space here."

Remembering Vash hit with that same old sting.

He straightened, rubbing the ache in his lower back, and found himself staring out at the desert without really meaning to.

It had been... what, a month since they'd last heard from him? Maybe more. Time blurred together out here.

First, they'd gotten a letter. Vash saying he was coming to visit, bringing the girl he'd gone to November City to find. Then, only a few days later, another message, more urgent: plans had changed. They needed to lay low for a while—had a friend who needed help. Could they stay?

His father had said yes both times. But nothing had happened.

It wasn't like Vash was avoiding them on purpose. Carlito knew that much.

From what they'd heard—bits and pieces picked up from passing travelers, whispers on the radio—Vash had gotten tangled up with the Terrans after the civil unrest in November City. The details were fuzzy, but the important part was that it had apparently worked itself out. Carlito had even seen it on the news a few weeks back: the bounty on Vash the Stampede had been lifted. 

So he was free. Whatever had happened was over. But Carlito hadn't heard from him yet. Not a letter, not a message, nothing. The silence worried him more than he wanted to admit.

Vash was probably busy, right? Getting his life together, figuring things out. That made sense.

Still, a small part of him worried. What if something had gone wrong after all? Or worse—what if Vash had simply stopped caring about them? No. That couldn't be true.

Even if it were, Nai’s tree was here. If Vash wanted to see it, he’d have to show his face — and Carlito would make sure to give him a kick for being that ungrateful.

With that settled in his mind, he bent down to check inside another box. It was full of books that Knives used to read when he'd holed himself up here—thick, heavy things. Knives had always gone for the densest volumes he could find, the kind with tiny print and complicated words.

One of them was a worn Bible, its leather cover sun-faded and cracked at the edges. Carlito flipped it open on instinct.

The pages were filled with underlines and faint red pencil markings. Whole sections bracketed off, a few notes scrawled in the margins in small, precise handwriting.

He frowned, remembering how Knives used to walk around with it sometimes. Never explained why—not even when Carlito asked. Carefully, he set the book aside. If it had meant that much to him, Vash would probably want it.

As he reached for another title, a flicker of movement in the distance caught his eye.

Squinting into the sun, he spotted a plume of dust on the horizon—not wind-blown sand, but the kind kicked up by a fast-moving vehicle. Headed their way.

Carlito’s heart jumped.

A vehicle. Someone was coming. And somehow, he already knew who.

“¡Papá!” he yelled, bursting into the courtyard. “¡Papá, ven! ¡Parece que el Vash está de vuelta!”

Dr. Bond looked up from where he’d been repainting chairs. “What?” he said, already pushing to his feet. “Impossible!”

But Carlito didn’t stop. He was already halfway to the church entrance by the time the jeep rolled to a stop out front.

His breath caught in his chest as the driver’s side door opened. Someone stepped out, silhouetted against the bright afternoon sun. Carlito couldn’t make out the details yet—couldn’t tell if his father had followed him outside, couldn’t see who the figure was opening the passenger door for.

But even backlit by the glare, he recognized that silhouette. That messy black hair, those yellow round glasses catching the light.

That was all the confirmation he needed. He took off running, racing across the sand.

"¡Vash!"

At the sound of his name being shouted, Vash turned—and saw his friend sprinting toward him. His whole face lit up. He barely had time to open his arms before Carlito crashed into him at full speed.

"Whoa—!" Vash laughed, the impact sending him back a step. His arms came up instantly, catching the boy and drawing him into a tight hug. "Hey! When did you get so tall?"

That would've been the perfect time to say something cool or witty—maybe a jab about how long it had taken him to come back.

Instead, he was full-on crying into Vash’s shirt like he was five years old again.

"I thought you weren’t coming back," he gasped out between breaths. "I thought you forgot about us—"

"Hey. Hey, no." One of Vash's hands settled on the back of his head, gentle. "I'm here now."

"Like, for real?"

Vash nodded, the smile he gave him tired around the edges but sincere. "I made you wait way too long, didn't I? I'm sorry." His hand shifted to Carlito's shoulder. "I had one last thing I needed to do first. But yeah—I’m here now. And I keep my promises, don’t I?"

"I guess so," Carlito managed, swiping at his tears with his sleeve.

"By the way, speaking of promises..."

There was a shift in Vash’s attention, drawn to movement over Carlito’s shoulder. His whole expression softened, and his hand slipped away as he took a step back.

A woman stood near the jeep. Dark hair. Eyes shining at the corners. She had one hand pressed to her chest, like the moment had overwhelmed her too. When she realized they were watching, she stepped closer.

Vash reached for her hand without thinking, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"I want you to meet someone," he said, his attention back on the boy. "This is Meryl—the one I told you I went to find. Remember? I said she'd love to meet you and your dad. Well… here she is."

Catching her cue, Meryl approached until she was standing right in front of them both. "Hi, Carlito. Nice to meet you. I've heard so much about you—about you and your father. What you did for Vash—" The words seemed to catch in her throat. "You saved someone very precious to me, and I don't think I'll ever be able to thank you enough for that."

Carlito studied her. She seemed nice enough—and genuinely grateful—but without quite meaning to, he took a half-step back, a little closer to Vash. She was still a stranger, after all.

"Hey, it’s alright," Vash said gently. "You’ll have plenty of time to get to know her—and to like her, even if you said you wouldn’t."

"I didn't mean it," he mumbled, glancing at her—worried she'd think the worst of him. But she didn't look mad. If anything, she seemed understanding. Maybe even a little amused.

"I know you didn't." Vash crouched down, meeting his eyes. "But just in case, you need to know that if it weren't for her, I wouldn't be standing here right now. In more ways than one. She's the reason I made it back to you."

In more ways than one? What did that even mean? He was eleven, not stupid. He knew Vash had a tendency to get into trouble and get hurt in the process.  That part made sense. But this felt different. More serious. The kind of serious where adults got quiet and careful with their words. 

And the way Vash kept glancing at her, like he needed to make sure she was always there...

Whatever had happened between them, it was big. Life-or-death big.

Then it clicked.

She was made of the same stuff as Vash.

It was hard to explain what exactly. But it was there—the same thing that had made him and his father want to save Vash when Nai brought him, even though they didn't know who he was.

That stuff was still there after Nai’s death, but Vash wasn’t the same. It was like someone had turned down a light inside him, little by little, every day he stayed in Mesa Probe.Carlito had noticed and had been scared by it, even. What if Vash kept fading until there was nothing left?

Maybe that's why he'd needed to leave. To find whatever piece of himself he'd lost.

And maybe this woman was it.

If she was the reason Vash was smiling again, the reason he felt whole—then Carlito couldn't hate her. Not one bit.

So he swiped at his eyes once more, pulled himself together, and stepped forward with his hand outstretched.

"Okay, nice to meet you, too," he said, trying to sound as serious as possible, though a suspicious blush crept up his cheeks. "And for the record, I said I might not like you, that's all. The rest is Vash being mean."

Meryl let out a laugh and shook his hand back firmly. "Why am I not surprised? Do you know how much I have to put up with him every day?"

That got him. Carlito chuckled, some of the tension finally leaving his shoulders. "No, but you can tell me. I've got embarrassing stories too."

Vash groaned in mock complaint but didn’t interrupt, letting the exchange play out. As he did, he caught sight of Dr. Bond standing by the church steps, watching the scene with quiet wonder. Vash lifted a hand in greeting, and the older man returned the gesture with a small nod.

It was strange, he thought, to feel all of this here—of all places. A land that had once held more pain than peace was now the backdrop to something so simple and wonderful: two people who mattered to him getting along, even if it was at his expense.

Eden was a concept Vash and Knives had discussed often when they were younger. Once, they'd stumbled upon a description that stuck with him: a place full of trees "pleasing to the eye and good for food." In his youthful mind, he'd imagined it must have looked like their old Rec Room—but bigger. Better. Perfect.

Now, after everything he'd seen and experienced, both good and bad, he knew that Eden could take many forms. That it didn't require perfection—just the right people, the right moment.

And right now, in this little corner of an arid planet, it looked nothing like that old description.

But it was close enough.

Lanterns hung from the courtyard arches, their glow soft and golden against the desert dusk. The air carried the scent of the freshly lit grill, mingling with Vash, Meryl, and Carlito's laughter as they prepared ingredients for their impromptu celebration dinner.

"I'm so glad they finally caught Morris," Meryl said as she chopped some potatoes. "When Milly called me this morning to tell me to turn on the news, I couldn't believe it."

It wasn't that she'd lost faith in Chronica's work. Meryl knew better than anyone how relentless the woman could be once she locked onto a target. But after nearly a month without a single sighting, even she'd started to wonder if Morris had slipped the net for good.

Turns out, men like him didn't handle being ordinary very well. No command, no rank, and apparently no self-control either—he'd picked a fight over a free drink and got himself caught.

"What I can't believe," Vash replied, grinning as he sliced a hamburger bun, "is that she called you from the orphanage where she's living and working now. You'd think meeting Razlo on their way to NLBC would've been enough to scare her off."

"Wait, who's Razlo again?" Carlito cut in, trying to keep up. "The other guy inside your friend?"

"Yeah, that’s him. Don’t worry—you probably won’t even see him when they visit next week. But if you do, he’s totally safe to be around."

That seemed to put him at ease—at least enough to drop the subject and glance at the growing pile of chopped potatoes on Meryl’s cutting board.  "You want me to take those to my dad, Miss Meryl?"

"Oh, that would be great! Just be careful not to trip—we don’t want to lose any."

Nodding eagerly, he carefully gathered the potatoes into a bowl and headed across the courtyard, where his father was tending the grill.

Vash watched him go. Then, after a beat, he stepped up behind Meryl, slipped his arms around her waist, and rested his chin on her shoulder while she kept working.

“It’s official,” he murmured close to her ear. “You’ve got an admirer. Makes me wonder if I ever looked at Rem with the same puppy-dog eyes Carlito gives you now.”

A faint blush crept up Meryl’s cheeks—coming from him, it was a hell of a compliment.
“Kids are like that around people who don’t treat them like they’re dumb because they’re young.”

“Or,” Vash said, pressing a light kiss to her temple, “he now sees how wonderful you are.”

She was about to reply, ready to keep the ball rolling—when someone nearby cleared their throat.

"I know you two got some good news today," Dr. Bond said, eyeing them with thinly veiled amusement, "but could you keep the public displays of affection to a minimum for at least one second?"

"Sorry, sorry." Vash pulled back slightly but didn’t let go of Meryl. "We’re simply glad we didn’t have to deal with that bastard ourselves."

Bond raised a brow, wiping his hands on a nearby towel. "You’re forgetting the clause in your plea deal—intervention only if the Terrans ask. Remember?"

"We had... differing interpretations of that clause," Vash replied, all innocent. "In the end, it's one of those things I hope we never have to find out how it plays out."

"And you're okay with that?" Bond’s attention shifted to Meryl, who was gently untangling herself from Vash’s arms.

“Sort of. I mean, I’d rather decide for myself what’s actually a threat—since they don’t exactly have the best track record when it comes to judging people.” She picked up the tray of buns, her tone light. “So I was actually the one who told him to keep that agreement to ourselves and see how things played out.”

"Good grief, what a terrible influence you are." Bond shook his head as she headed off to join Carlito. "The first time I met her, I never would've guessed she'd be the type to feel so comfortable breaking the law."

Feeling suddenly empty-handed, Vash slid onto the bench beside him and poured himself a drink. “I’d call it more of a rule-bending policy—strictly for emergencies. You know… the ‘Vash is in trouble again’ kind.”

“Is that so?” Bond glanced over as she started showing Carlito how to flip some burgers. “Well, if that’s the case... she’s a keeper, y’know?”

Vash took a slow sip, saying nothing. No point in answering that—it already showed, how aware he was of it every time he looked at her

"Speaking of which," the doctor went on, tone softening, "how are her nightmares? Any better?" 

His friend went quiet for a second. That was a touchy subject for him after all.

"Better," he said finally, fingers tracing the rim of his glass. "I figured most of the bad dreams were about what happened in that junkyard. But now that she’s actually talking about it... it helps her—and helps me understand what she went through. And when it gets too much, I let her change the subject."

"You talk about anything else, like I suggested?" 

"Oh yeah. And it does wonders." He brightened. "I tell her about the people I've met at the Plant Dome, what we've seen so far... little things she might want to look out for when she starts there too." A soft, contented breath escaped him. "And sometimes we talk about our future together—what our place might look like once we settle, and stuff like that."

Apparently satisfied, Bond leaned back in his chair, arms stretching overhead until his spine gave a satisfying crack. "I know I told you you could stay as long as you needed, but looking forward to something like that—it's going to be good for her." He gave Vash a pointed look. "That goes for you too, in case you forgot. You deserve a nice life for a change." To his surprise, instead of the usual self-deprecating joke or deflection, Vash smiled at him—genuinely smiled, like the weight of the world had finally lifted off his shoulders.

"You know what?" He raised his glass for another sip. "I think you're right. I think we deserve a break." 

Before he could drink, they heard some commotion by the grill—Carlito had burned something, it seemed, and was asking for help. 

Vash stood up immediately. “Don’t worry, I can take care of that. You rest.”

Bond didn’t complain, watching him go. The emergency, as it turned out, was nothing more than a thoroughly charred burger.

Still, his son—who had been taking Meryl’s cooking tips to heart—looked utterly defeated by the mishap. Even an old fart like him had to admit, it was kind of awe-inspiring how Vash and Meryl teamed up to lift the boy’s spirits, coaxing him to laugh it off and try again.

In all honesty, he’d been worried about Vash when they first arrived. Sure, there was that awful gash on his neck and the obvious exhaustion, but emotionally, he seemed in a much better place than before leaving for Mesa Probe.

Of course, Bond was glad to see progress. Though as a doctor, he couldn’t shake the nagging urge to make sure that his friend and patient’s recovery was built on solid ground, and not the intoxicating high of falling in love.

Meryl—as he'd come to realize over the past few weeks—absolutely deserved the devotion Vash felt for her. Hell, she was probably one of the best things to ever happen to the guy. But well-meaning or not, codependency never held up forever. Love wasn't a cure-all. If Vash was leaning too hard on her, hoping she could fix him instead of doing the work himself, it could hurt them both in the end.

After some observation, though, Bond realized that wasn't the case.

He'd seen all kinds of healing in his career—bones knitting back together, skin closing over wounds—but he'd also learned to recognize the deeper kind. The kind that didn't show up on a scan. The kind that let a man stand on his own, not because he owed it to someone else, but because he finally wanted it for himself.

Vash, at least in his professional opinion, had achieved that kind of recovery. The kind Bond had hoped for but more than once feared he'd never reach.

A familiar sense of peace came over him—the kind he always felt when discharging a patient. Sure, this was symbolic, playing out only in his mind, but the feeling was just the same.

And if that was the case, then someone deserved to know their loved one would be fine, that they were ready to face the world again.

Bond shifted his attention to the apple tree in the middle of the courtyard. Someone—probably Carlito—had decorated it with strings of lights and paper cutouts for the occasion, making it glow softly in the dusk.

"We fixed him right, like we promised," he murmured, raising his glass toward the branches. "You can rest easy now, Nai."

"We have all become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous deeds are like a polluted garment. We all fade like a leaf, and our iniquities, like the wind, take us away."

Vash read the lines highlighted in red and frowned. It was beautifully written, sure—but all things considered, he didn’t love the implications. So he carefully turned the page again, looking for a passage that felt a little less judgy.

"Do not repay evil for evil or reviling for reviling, but on the contrary, bless, for to this you were called, that you may obtain a blessing."

That one sat better with him.

Satisfied, he closed the book in his hands and lifted his gaze to the horizon. 

From his perch on the roof outside their bedroom window, he had a perfect view of the twin suns rising above the desert—warm golds and oranges spilling upward, breaking through the cool purples and blues left over from night. The colors bled into each other like wet paint, soft pinks caught in between. Below, the dunes remained shadow-dark, their sinuous curves reduced to stark silhouettes.

In theory, the sight before him was objectively no different from the countless other sunrises he'd seen in his hundred and fifty years alive. The process never changed—same physics, same inevitable march toward daylight. And yet it had never stopped being beautiful. Even in his darkest moments, he'd never stopped appreciating it enough to keep him going.

A bit of pre-dawn air cut through, cold enough to raise goosebumps on his bare shoulders. At least he'd had the sense to bring a blanket before slipping out here in just his pajama pants.

These days, he didn’t wake this early unless he had to. Even so, after so many years on the run, old habits were hard to break. So rather than disturb Meryl by tossing and turning beside her, he’d taken to coming out here to read until she woke on her own.

This morning’s choice: Knives’ Bible.

He'd never been particularly drawn to religious texts, and even less so after this sort of book had helped plant the seeds of his brother's more radical ideas. That's why, when Carlito found it and gave it to him a few days after they arrived, Vash hadn't even been sure he wanted to touch the thing, no matter how attached Knives had seemed to it during his final days.

However, Meryl—already sharpening those reporter instincts—had asked if she could take a look after spotting all the red markings. It didn't take her long to notice an interesting pattern: most of the highlighted passages focused on forgiveness and redemption, not condemnation or divine retribution.

That alone had shifted Vash's perspective enough to bring it up with Doctor Bond, who concluded that this was probably how his brother had spent most of his days in the library—reading, annotating, searching for something.

Whether he ever found what he was looking for... that was harder to say. No matter how much they discussed it, they could never be sure if any of it had truly been an attempt to understand repentance, or if he'd just been passing the time.

In the end, rather than spend the rest of his life wondering, Vash chose to believe this was proof of what Rem had told him—that Nai had at least begun to find his way back to himself, even if it had been a long and lonely road he’d had to walk alone.

He would always have conflicting feelings about that. After all, that silence meant they'd never gotten the chance to reach any real resolution between them. Yet if that solitude had given his brother the space he needed to reflect and find peace, then it gave him an unexpected sense of closure.

Funny how this place kept closing old chapters and opening new ones.

"What are you doing?"

A voice pulled him from his thoughts. He turned and found Meryl leaning on the frame of the open window, hair adorably mussed from sleep, watching him with that particular mix of tenderness and curiosity that he'd never get tired of seeing.

"Reading. But I'm done now that you're here." He set the Bible aside and reached up to help her through the window. She took his hand, and as she climbed out onto the roof beside him, he caught a glimpse of what she was wearing—or rather, what she wasn't. One of his shirts instead of her usual camisole.

"Not that I mind seeing you like this," he said, amused, "but I think you're going to freeze." 

"And whose fault is that?" She dropped beside him with a teasing smile.  "Someone got a little enthusiastic last night, flung my pajamas across the room—and then couldn't find them."

"Oh, right." He laughed, adjusting carefully the blanket over them both. "In my defense, you didn’t exactly complain."

"I never do, and especially not after what you proposed ."

Vash kissed the top of her head as she tucked herself against his side with easy contentment, his pulse quickening at the memory.

Last night, they’d been lying in bed after the celebration, her body warm against his. He’d been holding her, listening to her breathe, thinking how lucky he was to have this—to have her—and then it had all hit him at once.

Every good thing that had somehow become his since he went looking for Meryl almost a year ago—how she was safe in his arms now, how he’d regained his freedom, how, for the first time in so long, there was a real life waiting for him to build.

None of it erased the suffering, the scars they'd both carry for the rest of their lives. Still, in that moment, all he could feel was this tremendous surge of joy cutting through all the darkness that had weighed him down for so long. And the happiness was so overwhelming he couldn't keep it inside anymore.

So he asked her. What had been on his mind for the longest time. Something he never thought he’d be able to say in this lifetime—or the next.

“Meryl Stryfe, would you have me for the rest of your life? As your husband, or—or whatever you're comfortable with calling it? Whatever word you choose for me, I'd be honored to carry it.”

Granted, it hadn't been his most eloquent moment—and it definitely wasn't the tidy, picture-perfect proposal he'd read about thousands of times in books. That didn't matter. The honest impulsiveness felt right, like searching for the right combination of notes in one of his melodies, each word hitting the exact chord in the full arrangement of everything he felt—and everything he was asking of her.

Again.

This time, though, he didn't have to be somewhere else before he heard her response. Even in the dim light, he saw her eyes light up, her smile grow. She pulled him closer, her hands reaching for his face, and whispered her answer against his lips before kissing him.

And it had been one of the best moments of his life.

"A part of me still can't believe you said yes," he murmured into her hair. "Sounds too good to be true."

“After everything that’s happened, what even made you think I wouldn’t?”

“I don’t know.” He reached for her hand, his fingers finding hers and intertwining gently. “Nerves, perhaps—once I said it, it became real. Before you replied, I even kept thinking I should’ve at least had a ring to make it more official, and to convince you.”

Meryl tilted her head to look at him, her expression so tender it made his heart beat even faster. “At this point, I don’t think we need that kind of thing to make a promise.” She lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it gently. “Besides—who needs a ring when everything I need is already right here?”

Hearing her say that overwhelmed him with joy all over again. God, he really had to get used to feeling like this someday—to not be so overcome every time he was reminded how much his life had changed for the better. There would be enough time to learn how to do that eventually. But for now—

A laugh burst out of him, bubbling up uncontrollably as he pulled her into a tight embrace—so tight that the momentum tipped them both backward, leaving him flat on his back with her sprawled across his chest.

“Vash!” she yelped, laughing. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Being happy!” he grinned up at her, breathless. “So happy I might actually explode.”

She rolled her eyes, still laughing, and let her head drop to his shoulder, savoring the moment just the same.

They both stared at the morning sky—the same one that had watched over them so many times on opposite sides of this planet, separated and wondering if they would ever see each other again.

Now it stretched above them, full of promise—not empty space defined by what was missing, but endless possibility. Room for whatever future they chose to build together. 

The brightest one they could imagine. Side by side. Hand in hand. 

Always.