SHE SOUNDED SO small. normally her voice was loud enough to fill the smallest of rooms with bitter anger and aging responsibility. they were always so different. vash with his childish antics flashed above the surface of a BULLETPROOF COAT and meryl with the badge of authority on living in the real world. one relied on dreams and idealistic thinking while the other trudged through city after city watching history repeat itself, as if sheâd been living for longer than any of them.
     they both had their secrets. but this? this was something he needed to be known. something that he knew, one way or another, heâd never be able to forgive himself for. either the townsfolk were injured and legato got away, or he really did shoot that gun. âkill the SPIDER to save the butterflies.
     â  âŠyeah.  â    the word didnât really need to be spoken; the invitation was already there. so many times heâd said that he really needed to be alone. just like in new oregon or back when heâd first told her of his missing memories of the incident at july. they were uncomfortable topics. things he didnât want to remember. things that only propelled his growing hatred for the man heâd once called brother. KNIVES.Â
There was almost some, small hope that heâd insist she stay out; remain on her comfortable other side of the door where she could pretend he didnât know she was there and he could pretend he was ever really by himself. But if he needs her then sheâs there for himâwhen did the transition from âinsurance girlâ to âprotectorâ start? At least, in her mind, that was part of her duty also, now. He can protect everyone he wants from the blades and gunfire of the world, but when it comes down to that emotional padding? Well, no one can do it all.
And how justified do you think you are, Meryl?
Not very, but sheâll try her best. Her hand rests one more heartbeat ( positive that hers is thudding inside her chest much faster now ) against the smooth wood of the door frame before dropping to the knob and giving it a resolute twist open. If she doesnât do it quickly ( surely ) then she might never do it.
But the room opening up to her does her heart little good to steady itself. Sheâs seen him hurt; sheâs seen him down and out; hell, sheâs even seen him nearly destroyed. Why does this feel so different? Where is that light sheâs so used to? Whyâwhy did she even ask to come inside? Sheâs there now, though, and she canât exactly make up some dumb excuse to get out of a situation she helped build up. She tries to steady her breath enough that her short strides into the room are as professional and steady as usual.
They arenât, and she knows it. This isnât the time for that. The beating of her heat, as erratic and nervous as it is, knows this is a gentler moment. No criticism or insultsâwhy kick someone when theyâre already down? Instead, she tries to smile, but itâs just as difficult when she wants to cry right alongside him. Sheâs realizing in this moment how much she hates seeing him sad. Her feet stop short of coming in close distance of himâthis is already enough of an invasion of personal space.
ââŠAlways getting in over your head, arenât you?â Thereâs no scolding in her tone, for once. If anything, itâs fondness laid over just an inch or two of mourning for the hard life such a good man is forced to live. âI⊠I donât know how I can help, but if you want to talk about itâVash, you know you can always tell me anything.â
