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Vash didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about his body. As long as it did what he needed it to, it didn’t require his attention. When it failed him... well.
He absently rolled his wrist, generating a series of tiny metallic plinks. It had been on his mental list for the next time he visited Home for a long while now, and his habit of checking the alignment had become second nature. It didn’t bother him.
What was bothering him was the way Meryl was staring at him.
He hadn’t done anything wrong. Not that he could think of, at least. There shouldn’t be a reason for her to be mad at him, or hate him, or really be giving him any attention at all for the moment.
He’d slipped into the vacant chair at the table when their plates were mostly empty. His promise to join them in the diner after he’d done a little recon of the area hadn’t been entirely untrue. He had scouted the block and checked exit routes at the like, and here he was in the diner with them. Meryl couldn’t possibly know that he’d purposefully drawn out his mission, wandering aimlessly for a while to wear through their dinner hour. Just because he could run lean on a lot less fuel than humans didn’t make it any easier to pass up a plate of hot food under his nose.
He'd tried giving Meryl a sunny, reassuring smile when he first noticed her stare, but she’d unexpectedly frowned slightly in response. He raised his eyebrows in an unspoken question, inviting her to share whatever was on her mind (it usually didn’t take much with humans). The glare persisted. He avoided her eyes for a bit, hoping maybe she’d move on to something else, but every time he checked she was staring steadily back at him. He had decided to just wait it out. Humans were mostly pretty bad at hiding their feelings. If she was upset with him for some reason, she’d let him know eventually.
It didn’t make the wait any less excruciating, though, and he was starting to wish he’d prolonged his wandering a little longer and skipped meeting them in the diner entirely.
Roberto started making noises about asking for the check, craning his head around to find their server.
“Vash, pick something to-go.” Meryl’s statement was as flat as her stare, an order rather than a suggestion.
“No no, it’s fine. My fault entirely for missing dinner, you don’t need to wait on my account.”
“It’ll be to-go, it won’t take long. Just pick something.”
Roberto sighed and asked the server he’d finally managed to flag down if they had a to-go menu, jerking his thumb at Vash. “Pretty much anything on the regular menu we can box up for you, no problem,” the young man had replied, and waited expectantly for the order.
“It’s fine, no need!” Vash waved his hand to shoo the kid away with an embarrassed grin.
“Pick something,” Meryl ordered again, voice unexpectedly stern.
“I can spot you some cash,” Wolfwood offered, “if you don’t have enough money. Lord knows I’ve taken most of it from you.”
Vash hated being put on the spot like this. His grin was rigid. The longer this dragged on, the more it would become the center of attention. He didn’t want to give in, didn’t want to be pushed around this way, but it was clear it would be the path of least resistance.
“Well…” He looked at their empty plates, trying to guess at what they’d ordered. “Cheeseburger?” That seemed simple enough. Everyone like cheeseburgers; he’d probably be able to find someone sleeping rough tonight who would want it. The server nodded, scribbled, and swept off into the kitchen to place the last-minute order.
If Vash had been bothered by Meryl’s stare before, he would have climbed out of his skin under the scrutiny of three pairs of eyes. Roberto looked as curious as his jaded demeanor allowed, and Wolfwood seemed smugly confident in his assessment of Vash’s financial situation. Meryl continued her flat stare.
Vash avoided the issue by simply escaping into his mind. His eyes fixated on a particular gouge in the edge of the table. The expanse of the universe shrank down into the distance between him and the gouge. His thoughts swirled free-form in that confined space, a private dimension where he was unrestrained for a time. Eddies of muted emotion swirled; anger at Meryl for staring, for being so damned pushy and making this into a whole deal; anger at Wolfwood for not recognizing the monumentally unrealistic odds of Vash’s ‘loosing streak’ and having no idea of the charity he was receiving; guilt that someone Roberto’s age was running through the desert instead of spending his short life-span with a family…
Less than 10 minutes later, the server returned with a paper bag and the check. The clatter of the little metal tray snapped Vash’s eyes up from the gouge, and he reached for the bill to see what the cheeseburger he wasn’t going to eat would cost him.
“I got it, blondie. My treat.” Wolfwood snatched it from his hands, but not before Vash had seen the numbers scrawled at the bottom.
“Thanks, Wolfwood. I’ll owe you.” It was a kind gesture, so he tried to sound properly appreciative. He’d tuck a handful of double-dollars into Wolfwood’s jacket later.
If their little quartet was more subdued that usual as they paid and gathered their things, Vash didn’t notice, one foot still in that little moment of space where his mind was free. Meryl stuffed the paper bag in his hands and he accepted it without resistance, trailing obediently behind the others out of the restaurant.
He almost wondered where his next words came from; even he didn’t know what he was saying until they reached his own ears. “I’ll catch up to you at the motel. I just need to go run one more errand tonight.” His legs carried him to the right as the others turned left. For a moment it worked.
Then Meryl’s small hand wrapped around his arm, her thumb pressing into the hollow of his elbow. “No, you’re coming with us.”
“But…”
“Now.”
“Come on, blondie. Whatever it is can wait, it’s late.”
“Not much open this time of night anyway, kid,” Roberto added.
But there would definitely be hungry, homeless people on the street who would appreciate a fresh cheeseburger. For a moment he resisted, weighing the good he could do with the food against the trouble he would bring on himself if he insisted.
The little bubble he’d built where he could be free, without carefully controlling every thought and emotion, popped. He wasn’t ready to fracture this little group yet, wasn’t ready for the easy, friendly dynamic to change. Selfish, he chided himself as he allowed his footsteps to be redirected. The rest of the walk to the motel was one short and all too long walk towards pain and discomfort, Meryl’s anger finally slipping out into the vice grip she maintained on his elbow.
With a terse exchange of keys and a quick reshuffle of bags, Meryl shoved Vash into the room ahead of her and firmly shut the door, leaving Roberto and Wolfwood to sort themselves and their surprise out on their own.
He turned towards her from between the double beds, clutching the paper bag from the diner as if it was a lifeline now, and tried to rearrange his face into something more open and kind than the grim resignation he felt.
“Meryl, what’s the matter? You’ve been,” he chose his words carefully, “not yourself tonight.”
“What’s the matter?” Her voice was shrill. So. There wouldn’t be a warm-up, she was already mad. “What’s the matter? You’re really going to ask that?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’ve done wrong.”
“It’s not something you’ve done, Vash, it’s what you’re not doing,” she snapped.
“I’m sorry. Please tell me what it is and I’ll make it right.” He tried to sound soothing, but just as earlier in the evening, for some reason it backfired.
Meryl snorted angrily. “Will you though? Or are you going to find another errand or something to disappear off to?”
“I’m sorry Meryl.” There was nothing else to say until she gave him more to work with.
“You want to make it right? Fine.” She pointed at the little table tucked into the corner of the motel room, and at the bag in his hands.
“Sit. Eat.”
The barest tremor escaped his tightly wound self-control. He would’ve flinched less if she’d struck him.
“Meryl, please…”
“Meryl, please…” she taunted him cruelly with his own words. “Don’t try the puppy-dog act. It’s so full of shit. I know you haven’t eaten in days. I bet you haven’t eaten properly in weeks. Sit. Down.”
“Why are you doing this?” He asked softly, his voice thickening with frustration that was caught in his throat, that threatened to spill from his eyes instead.
“Why am I…? Why are you doing this? What is the point of starving yourself? What are you accomplishing?”
“It doesn’t affect you, Meryl. Please, just drop it.”
“You think this doesn’t affect us? You think we haven’t noticed? You’re moving slow, you’re out of breath, you can’t keep up with Wolfwood. At this rate, some idiot out there is actually going to catch you, and then what are we supposed to do?”
Her words dripped down his spine like ice water. If he wasn’t able to protect them, if they got hurt because he wasn’t 100 percent… It just never ended, the things that were demanded of him. He would never be allowed a moment of weakness, never allowed a moment to give in to exhaustion, emotion, or pain. Always he would have to push through, box up his own needs until later (there would never be a later), and perform at the peak of his abilities. It was the only way to protect everyone, the only way to keep them all safe. A very small voice deep down inside raged that it wasn’t fair.
Because even then, Knives could rip it all away with a touch.
A hot tear burned down his cheek. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if that could shove the tears back inside. Instead, two more spilled out, streaking down both cheeks. The opposite of what he was trying to accomplish. That must be the trend of the day.
“Please just let me be,” he whispered, his voice choked tightly closed around the emotions he was suppressing.
“It affects me because I can’t just stand by and watch my friend suffer.” Meryl’s voice was a lot closer, her hand gentle on his arm.
Getting shot would have hurt less. ‘My friend’ was an axe that cleaved into his heart and hit bone beneath. His body chose not to breathe rather than give in to the pain. Every muscle that should have been his to control went rigid with tension, his chest and sides locked down into such a vice that he could only suck in thin whistles of air at a time, and still a sob managed to escape in a high keen.
Panic rose through the pain. He wasn’t getting enough air. The sobs were still building, pressing painfully outward. He wasn’t in control, and he didn’t quite understand why.
Get a grip, get a grip, get a grip. Deep breath in. It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay. Too long, holding it too long. Steady, steady… a sob slipped as he exhaled. Get a grip! Get a grip, get a grip…
Meryl’s fingers pulled at his stiff hand, unwrapping the fist clenched into the paper bag. He heard the crinkle of the paper, and then it was gone. Just him alone in the middle of the room now, frozen in place and trembling like a trapped, terrified animal.
Her hands returned to his, holding them firm and pushing him backward. He swayed, his feet rooted in place until she murmured quietly that the bed was just behind him. Eyes still screwed closed, he took a small step back, unsteady and swallowed in pain. Feeling the edge of the mattress behind his knee, he lowered himself down stiffly to sit, drawing in on himself tightly. If only he could just curl down into nothing and collapse like a popped bubble back into the black void in the center of his soul.
Surely he would find rest there.
“I don’t know what’s happening, but you’re my friend and I care about you. You can share it with me, whatever it is. I won’t bite.” The other mattress creaked under her weight.
Her words were nonsense, but her gentle tone was a balm. One he badly wanted to lean into. He curled in on himself even more tightly, fighting to even out the hitches in his breath. She had been right before. There was no room for weakness. Anything other than total self-control put everyone in danger. If only there was a place for kindness, despite everything.
He sat rigidly for an indeterminate amount of time, forcing his mind to still, boxing up whatever Meryl had released and shoving it back down into the quieter depths of his soul. His breathing evened out. The tears caught in his lashes dried to salt crystals. He found a way to be grateful to Meryl for pointing out his flaw. At least now he knew. Figuring out how to excise this particular weakness would be harder.
With a slow sigh, Vash rubbed the salt from his eyes before opening them. Meryl was sitting across from him, her face a little less hard than before.
“Are you okay?”
No. No, what would okay even look like, feel like?
“Yes,” he said quietly. Belatedly, he remembered to smile for her. It felt thin and fragile, like wet tissue paper, but it would have to do.
Her eyes searched his face. For some reason, he was having a hard time reading her expression. He couldn’t tell if she was still mad, or upset, or satisfied with him. For now, he didn’t care. Exhaustion was seeping into every muscle, dragging his limbs down like lead.
He scrubbed his face with his hand. As if that could wipe away the ugly evidence of whatever had just nearly escaped.
“Do you want to go wash your face, and then we can try this again? Have you eat a little something tonight?” Meryl asked.
Right. No escaping his fate tonight.
He nodded his assent and stood. He was solid on his legs, the reassuring weight of the gun on his thigh and the familiar drape of his coat all somehow at odds with how gutted he felt. He shrugged out of his coat, carefully arranging the aged fabric into a shape that didn’t include him, and unstrapped his holster. Now he felt naked. Now his body matched the raw and tender edges of his heart.
The faucet screeched and spat tepid water in a temperamental spray. He splashed his face and rinsed his hands, and it was nowhere near enough to forestall what was coming but it would be all he got. His stomach churned. Who could say if he spent a little longer than necessary drying water out of the grooves of his prosthetic hand.
By the time he exited the little motel bathroom, Meryl had pulled a chair up to the tiny table in the corner, and unwrapped the cheeseburger from earlier in the evening. How long had it been? It felt like a lifetime ago. She looked at him expectantly. Every step he took towards her and the table felt like walking to an execution and yet he did it smoothly. This was what was required right now. He would take this suffering the same as a bullet, if this is what was Meryl needed in order to feel safe around him.
The food looked revolting. Sweaty cheese, only partially melted, draped over what would probably be a ground toma patty. He could smell the charred flesh as he sat. His stomach churned again, audibly squealing as it cramped in anticipation of what was coming. For some reason, Meryl smiled at that. Perhaps she mistook it for hunger rather than the protest and warning that it actually was.
No point dragging it out. He picked up the burger, closed his eyes, and took a bite.
It felt unnatural to force his mouth open wide enough to fit the food. His face was tight from spending so long clenching his teeth shut. The steady flexing of his jaw muscles as he chewed threatened to cramp, and he swallowed whatever mush was in his mouth. One down.
He forced the next bite, mind briefly touching on a long distant memory of a grand worm breaching the desert sands to engulf a herd of wild tomas. His stomach flipped unhappily. He was the same kind of monster, stretching a cavernous maw wide and just consuming. Every single person on this planet took and took from him, and here he was, taking also. His mind skittered away, unable to hold the thought that he was as mindlessly violent as everyone else.
The food had no taste, it could have been cardboard and sand for all he cared. It might have been better if it had; then the fatty stench of burned flesh wouldn’t be filling his nose from within.
Two more down. Maybe he’d have ten bites and then stop. That seemed fair.
He opened his eyes to reassess where the next bite was going to come from (four, almost halfway there). Meryl was frowning again. He really didn’t understand what was going on with her today. Everything he did was backfiring. He was eating like she wanted, what more could she possibly ask for?
He took the bite. He closed his eyes. He chewed enough to swallow.
“Does your jaw always click like that?” she finally asked, as he waited for the food to travel down his throat. He glanced at her, a little embarrassed that she’d heard.
“Yeah.” He was acutely aware as it clicked twice again in rapid succession, once as he opened his mouth and again as he bit down (five). Then it settled into a slightly different, fainter clicking sound as he chewed and swallowed.
“One too many fists to the face,” he offered with a small shrug. His stomach clenched and squirmed again, more forcefully. He took a deep breath and waited it out.
“Is that why you don’t chew your food? Does it bother you?”
Vash tilted his head at Meryl. “Mmm. No?” He chewed his food just fine, as far as he knew? What an odd question.
The silence drew on, and he looked down again. Time for another bite of death and ashes. Self-conscious now, but there was no other way forward.
He got two more bites down (six, seven) before he gagged. He’d already swallowed, but for a terrifying moment everything heaved up. Eyes watering, he swallowed frantically until things began moving in the right direction again. Meryl was looking down at her hands. Maybe she didn’t notice.
He let the burger rest on the table. Just a little break, he was almost to ten. He was close to half-way through the burger itself even. Everything he’d eaten so far was sitting so high, pressing up into his lungs. He tried a few different ways to take a deep breath, but each one hurt his chest and pressed into the growing knot of nausea in his middle.
He thought briefly of his twin and was filled with envy. Knives didn’t have to eat; why did he have to be any different? Why couldn’t he rely on gate energy? Why couldn’t he photosynthesize like his sisters, even? I just take, I just consume.
He looked at the half-eaten burger in his hand, and felt the saliva beginning to run freely in his mouth, surging as the nausea grew. Well, he tried. He carefully wrapped the paper around the remains, glad his hands looked steadier than he felt.
The crinkle of the paper wrapping caught Meryl’s attention, and she looked at him questioningly. “That’s all? That was only half.”
He shook his head mutely. If he sat still awhile, his stomach might settle and he’d have a shot at keeping everything down.
“Maybe you can finish the rest later then.” It was unexpectedly gracious of her, as she carefully reached for the leftovers and tucked the wrappings tighter.
He searched the tabletop for something to lock onto, something to tether him in one place like the gouge at the diner. His eyes landed on all kinds of knots and dents, but he couldn’t get into the headspace. His body was too ill to let him escape.
He didn’t think about his body all that often, but when he did, he usually didn’t enjoy what it was telling him.
The silence in the room aged. Unable to disappear into his mind, Vash instead looked at Meryl. She was now leaning her chin in her palm, studying him openly. Their eye contact was her invitation to speak, apparently.
“I had a roommate in university. She was really nice, studying hydrology actually. She had trouble eating. It took me a long while to notice, you know? I felt really bad that I missed the signs. Still do. I’m not sure what I would have done if I had noticed. I might not have been able to help her much, I was so young myself. But it really bothers me that I didn’t do anything at all.”
Her story was slow and thoughtful, clearly unplanned as she traveled through memories to tell it. As she spoke, she pulled over her reporter bag and dug through its contents.
“I swore up and down that I wouldn’t miss signs like that again. But I did. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry it took so long to notice again.”
She laid two photos on the table, and aligned them side by side in front of Vash. His face stared up at him from each picture, both at nearly the same angle and lighting.
“This was right after we met you, and this was from a few weeks ago,” she explained, tapping first one, and then the other. “Just a few months apart. I didn’t realize how much you’ve thinned until I developed this new one last week.”
He did look thin in the recent picture, it was true. He recognized the sunken cheeks and dark circles under his eyes. This was okay, he’s had it worse. Not recently, but still.
“I’ve been watching you ever since, and you haven’t once eaten with us. You disappear on endless errands whenever it comes up. Even snacks. I saw you giving away your trail mix to those kids the day before.”
The trail mix Meryl had forced on him, Vash unhappily remembered. So this was why she had been so pushy. He desperately swallowed the swelling nausea. He felt hot and clammy, spreading up from his chest to his forehead.
“Vash, you have to eat.”
“I have to go,” he groaned, bolting for the little bathroom. He managed to get his head over the toilet before the first retch. Hunching over the toilet seemed to be the sign his body was waiting for to send everything back up in body-wracking heaves.
A hand on his back rubbed his shoulders gently. Meryl had followed him of course.
The heaving slowed long after his stomach was empty, and eventually she pressed a glass of tepid water into his hand. He rinsed his mouth, but the bitter acid burned in his nose still. His stomach convulsed in a few more empty retches before he finally straightened and flushed the remains of the cheeseburger away. Pulling himself to the sink, he washed away the tears and drool, and rinsed his mouth more thoroughly.
Every part of him ached. Although less severe now, he was still awash in nausea. If he were alone, he’d strip his clothes off to rid himself of the faint smell of bile and sleep it off, but he couldn’t do that with Meryl here. He gripped the chipped porcelain sink, head hanging, and considered options. It would be a shame to waste a night in a motel like this, but he only had the energy to get to the bed, so he would just have to lay down on top of the sheets as he was. Showering or changing into something else was beyond him tonight.
Wiping the water droplets off his face with the back of his hand, he pushed himself up and used that momentum to propel himself towards the bed, where he promptly collapsed in an untidy heap. He arranged himself more neatly when he felt the mattress dip under her weight.
“Can I dry your face?”
Vash opened one tired eye and saw her sitting on the edge of the bed in front of him, holding one of the towels that had been stocked in the room. With no particular opinion on being babied, he shrugged faintly in assent. Meryl dabbed the rest of the water off his face, tilting his chin with two fingers to get the lower side, and pushing the wet strands of hair that clung to his forehead away.
“I wish you would take better care of yourself. It’s hard to watch you treat yourself so harshly.”
I don’t deserve more than this, he thought. It wasn’t a bitter thought. Why get upset about facts?
“Can you tell me why? What’s keeping you from eating?”
Ah. The question at the heart of it all.
“I don’t know,” he lied.
But he did know. He did. And he could never tell her. No one else should have to carry this grief.
“Food just tastes like dirt right now, and makes me nauseous. It’ll pass eventually.” Please let that be true, he pled with the universe at large.
It had begun shortly after Jenora Rock. He’d headed east into the desert, the turmoil in his soul settling into his stomach in a knot. Rosa, Tonis, the others. They’d survived, but he was dead to them. He’d never see their faces light up in recognition again. It would be the barrel of a gun and a grimace if they ever crossed paths again. It wouldn’t be the first time, but that didn’t make it any easier. He imagined the rest of their lives, and hoped they died of old age, surrounded with love.
The reporters had caught up to him about then, offering a ride. Roberto looked like he was going to make it to old age, and that pleased Vash immensely. He slung himself into their backseat if only to soak up the proof that some humans were surviving peacefully these days.
His grief for the town of Jenora Rock dimmed, in time. The taste on his tongue of ashes and unspilled tears began to fade. But by then something else was building, something Vash hadn’t allowed himself in decades. Friendship. It was so deceptively easy for such a dangerous thing.
The more he cared about the reporters, about Wolfwood, the more acutely aware he was that he would lose them someday. If he was lucky, they’d leave him, withdrawing their friendship and vanishing with their own lives intact, like Rosa. If he was unlucky, if they stayed with him, he’d inevitably watch their short lives cut even shorter. He never wanted either of those things to happen, but after 150 years Vash knew there was almost never a third option. He used to tell himself that there would be new friends in the future. It lessened the ache, up until it stopped being true. Until his reputation preceded him, and the people he met began turning away in anger and fear before knowing him.
The more this tenuous and rare camaraderie had grown into friendship, the deeper his future grief became, until it was so thunderous and shattering that it echoed backward in time. Food lost its taste, turning to ash in his mouth. His stomach twisted painfully any time the thought of being alone again flitted through his mind uninvited. Every moment of genuine happiness he stole from them strengthened their future ghosts, haunting him all the way to the present.
Meryl’s words (…my friend…) were a lightning strike in the stretching loneliness that was his life. One that would burn him up from the inside. While it felt warm now, it would leave him a hollowed out stump, still standing but charred and smoking and cavernously empty.
He should have left before things got this far. It would have been best for everyone. But he was weak and selfish, and couldn’t make himself let go of this tender thing being offered to him, even if it killed his friends. A little starvation now was a small price compared to the ones they would eventually pay on his behalf.
“It’s been months, Vash, and it’s getting worse. How long can you wait for this to pass?”
He couldn’t wait any longer, it was true. Not if he was weakening and putting them all in danger. It had been self-indulgent to side-step that discomfort, but he couldn’t avoid it any longer.
“I’m sorry Meryl. You’re right. I’ll do better. Starting tomorrow.”
She snorted softly. “Of course. Get some rest now. We’ll figure something out in the morning.”
Humans were such a contradiction. They inflicted suffering on each other so easily, and yet were so desperate to relieve it in others that they circled back around to cruelty.
--
It’s satisfying to be right. That thrill of vindication never gets old.
Meryl was right a lot. She was right despite her size, despite her gender, despite her age. She had good instincts. She was proud of that.
When Meryl happened to glance up and catch Vash passing in front of the restaurant window, approaching from the wrong direction to have been coming from anywhere near the motel, she immediately thought “ah ha!” to herself forcefully. Not that she’d doubted herself much, but she hadn’t actually known Vash all that long yet, and even she could entertain that there was a slim chance she was wrong.
She’d been watching him carefully for the last week. Of course she noticed the way he’d paled and gone dizzy at times, but it was dismissed as standing too fast. Or how he seemed a little clumsier, how he’d been almost as surprised as the rest of them when he’d dropped a bullet, which he waved off with a wide grin and ‘just distracted, I guess.’
Then there were the excuses. Scouting and taking care of security while they were in the desert, then errands and ‘visiting friends’ in whatever town they rolled through. But only ever when it was time to eat. It had almost seemed reasonable, if a little frustrating, but now, knowing what she was pretty sure she knew, it all was painfully obvious.
The worst was the quick but longing glances when he was around while they ate, or when a bag of snacks was getting passed around in the truck. They set aside portions for him, offered to share, and he wanted it, but something was holding him back. He just… didn’t. If this had been about money, Meryl was pretty sure Wolfwood would have covered him, given Wolfwood had taken most of Vash’s money in those stupid card games they played.
No. He was actively avoiding eating. And he was lying about it. And she had just caught him red handed.
He slid into the open chair and flashed a smile for them, unfailingly positive in the face of Roberto’s dispassionate criticism of his time management and Wolfwood’s mockery. She watched him fidget with the unused table settings in front of him until the utensils were lined up perfectly straight and even before falling into his habit of making his prosthetic wrist pop.
It ticked when he did it, something like the sound of metal catching for a moment when it shouldn’t, but very faint. It wasn’t as obnoxious as when people repeatedly cracked their knuckles, but sometimes, like right now, she really wanted to tell him to knock it off.
Actually, what she really wanted to do was confront him over what he was lying about. If she was right about that as well, and she probably was, then it needed to be a private conversation. So she waited. But it was hard.
“Time for the check. Where’d that server get off too? I haven’t seen him in a while.” Roberto craned his neck, looking back towards the swing doors to the kitchen and tipping a finger.
Speaking for the first time since Vash had sat down, Meryl looked directly at him and said, “Vash, pick something to-go.” Since he was going to avoid the issue, she was going to push it.
“No no, it’s fine. My fault entirely for missing dinner, you don’t need to wait on my account.”
“It’ll be to-go, it won’t take long. Just pick something.”
The server appeared over Roberto’s shoulder. “This idiot missed dinner. Do you have a to-go menu or something we can grab quickly?” he asked up at the young man.
“Pretty much anything on the regular menu we can box up for you, no problem,” the server replied, pen poised to write down an order.
“It’s fine, no need!” Vash waved his hand, as if he could physically deflect them all, with a big grin pasted in place.
“Pick something,” she insisted.
“I can spot you some cash,” Wolfwood offered, “If you don’t have enough money. Lord knows I’ve taken most of it from you.”
Meryl rolled her eyes. Vash had more or less admitted to letting him win at cards, and yet Wolfwood still insisted on pretending it was all down to his skill alone.
“Well,” Vash drawled, eyes casting about. It was a little unfair since he didn’t have a menu, but if she wasn’t making it particularly easy on him, well, he had been lying and hiding this from them for a while, so they were even.
“Cheeseburger?” he finally offered, his voice low, almost miserable sounding.
The server scribbled on his little pad and left. “And the check?” Roberto asked the young man’s retreating back. He got no response. With a small huff, he turned back to the table. He caught Meryl’s eyes and tilted his head towards Vash in an unspoken question. She pressed her lips tightly and shook her head just once. No, she would not explain what was going on right now. There was no way to convey “I think Vash has an eating disorder” through non-verbal communication.
The table was silent while they waited. Vash stared intently at the table-top in front of him, the charm from earlier in the evening gone. He seemed to know he was in trouble now. Meryl considered that a win.
Uninterested in getting caught up in whatever this drama was, Roberto stayed quiet. Wolfwood, well he was fidgeting with the utensils now himself, trying to build a carefully balanced stack on top of his unused spoon. Sometimes she wondered how old he actually was, still acting like such a child.
The server returned with a paper bag and the check. Vash roused enough to squabble briefly with Wolfwood over the bill, but Wolfwood won out and paid for them both. If Vash seemed a little far away as they collected their things and left the restaurant, she pinned it on him being upset that she had called his bluff. It didn’t escape her that he tried to leaving without his bag of food, but at least he didn’t resist when she shoved it at him.
Thus, she wasn’t entirely surprised when he tried to veer off in the opposite direction with a flimsy excuse of one final errand. She managed to catch his elbow in time and stop him from escaping. He was definitely going to trash the food and claim he ate it later. Still, it was such a lame cover up that even Wolfwood and Roberto called him on it.
“Come on, blondie. Whatever it is can wait, it’s late.”
“Not much open this time of night anyway, kid.”
She appreciated them backing her up. His behavior was just pathetic. First, he was deliberately starving himself for some reason. That on it’s own was bad enough. Second, he was lying to them about it. Third, he was trying to sneak off and avoid the consequences of getting caught in the first two. Maybe she shouldn’t have expected more, he was the legendary outlaw after all. She tightened her grip on his elbow as she marched him along back to the motel.
Once there, she tersely directed Vash and Roberto to swap rooms. They were going to have that private conversation now, even if it took all night. Bags and keys exchanged, Meryl pushed Vash into the double room and closed the door.
Before she could gather her thoughts, he turned and smoothly turned the tables on her, asking, “Meryl, what’s the matter? You’ve been… not yourself tonight.” He gave her a small, patronizing smile.
She sputtered mentally for just one moment, before her temper caught and flared to life. The sheer nerve he had to make this whole thing her issue. How dare he. “What’s the matter? What’s the matter? You’re really going to ask that?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’ve done wrong.”
“It’s not something you’ve done, Vash, it’s what you’re not doing,” she snapped. Of course he wouldn’t just come right out and admit it. That would have been far too easy.
“I’m sorry. Please tell me what it is and I’ll make it right.”
Meryl snorted. That was a lie. “Will you though? Or are you going to find another errand or something to disappear off to?” The back of her mind helpfully offered her a kaleidoscope of the excuses he’d given over the week or so that she had been paying attention.
“I’m sorry Meryl.”
So many useless apologies. “You want to make it right? Fine.” She pointed at the little table tucked into the corner of the motel room, and at the bag in his hands.
“Sit. Eat.”
That got through to him. She saw his face pinch as he understood what she was asking for. Just for a moment, he looked like a kicked puppy, sorry and confused and uncomprehending of her anger. Boy he had that routine down well. Now all of their cards were on the table. He could either eat and prove he wasn’t avoiding food and starving himself, or he would have to talk to her.
“Meryl, please…”
“Meryl, please…” she mocked back. “Don’t try the puppy-dog act. It’s so full of shit. I know you haven’t eaten in days. I bet you haven’t eaten properly in weeks. Sit. Down.”
“Why are you doing this?”
This had to be the stupidest argument she’d had in her life. He wasn’t denying it, he wasn’t defending it, he wasn’t even deflecting it with one of those painfully fake smiles. Why was it on her to drag it out into the open in slow, excruciating detail? She wished she could shake out of him whatever stupid reason or thing he thought he was protecting them from with this useless self-sacrifice.
“Why am I…? Why are you doing this? What is the point of starving yourself? What are you accomplishing?” Why did he keep turning this back around on her? Framing it like she was the bad guy for pointing out the obvious problem, like she was overstepping herself by expecting this basic level of self-care?
“It doesn’t affect you, Meryl. Please, just drop it.” His voice had gone quiet.
“You think this doesn’t affect us? You think I haven’t noticed? You’re moving slow, you’re out of breath, you can’t keep up with Wolfwood. At this rate, some idiot out there is actually going to catch you, and then what are we supposed to do?”
From the moment she’d first noticed, Meryl had been filled with worry. If Vash was weakening, he might not be able to get out of the next situation some idiotic bounty hunter put him in. Or the next time he rushed head first into trouble trying to help a total stranger. The next time, he could get captured, or worse, he could get hurt. Vash always looked out for them, protected them, but if anything happened, they wouldn’t be able to return that favor. Roberto only had an ancient derringer, and Meryl didn’t have anything to offer beyond giving basic first aid. Wolfwood, well, she wasn’t entirely sure what Wolfwood would do, if he would risk his neck or not... Vash had to be able to take care of himself in that way.
He had closed his eyes tight, clearly trying to hide from her words in plain sight. She didn’t notice he was crying until a wobbly tear hung from his chin.
Oh no. What’s this? This wasn’t the fight she was expecting to have. This didn’t feel like a fight at all. She had expected reasons, justifications, denial, not this voiceless surrender.
Maybe she’d been too harsh. It’s not like he couldn’t take care of himself, it’s just that he obviously wasn’t doing well and she would hate to see something bad happen because of… whatever this was. Only maybe it wasn’t the same as the martyrdom that threw him in front of bullets meant for others. Maybe it wasn’t about her, or Roberto, or Wolfwood, or money at all. Maybe this was something that ran deeper than that.
“It affects me because,” she tried again, hesitating. Of course she wasn’t just doing this to prove she was right, or for the satisfaction of knowing she’d caught him out like this. “Because I can’t just stand by and watch my friend suffer,” she offered more kindly.
Rather than soothe the way she’d intended, Vash flinched like she’d struck him. His breath hitched, a sharp inhale followed by a small sob he suppressed into a whine. More tears tracked down his face, which was starting to turn red from holding it all in. She gingerly pulled his sad little bag of food away from him and set it aside so she could hold his hands. The prosthetic was cool, but his right hand was surprisingly warm. Both gripped her hands back tightly.
“Do you want to sit? The bed is just behind you,” she said softly, pushing his hands to guide him.
Yielding to her pressure, he sat on the edge of the bed, but did not relax. Quite the opposite in fact. Every part of him was squeezed down, as if he trying to physically take up less space; shoulders hunched forward, elbows locked against his sides, legs pressed together at the knees, eyes squeezed shut still. He radiated distress.
The way he was trying to hide his crying seemed genuine, like she’d actually hurt him. Maybe she had pushed too hard. She didn’t mean to lash out before, but he’d lied to her face so callously. He was hurting himself. How was she supposed to not react strongly to either of those things?
She carefully sat across from him on the other bed, leaning forward across the narrow gap to keep his hands in hers. He dipped his face away from hers, curling down on himself further. Maybe he was afraid, somehow? Afraid of her judgement, afraid of whatever inside of him was driving him to starvation?
“I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you’re my friend and I care about you. You can share it with me, whatever it is. I won’t bite.”
He didn’t respond. She sat quietly and studied him, listening to his irregular breathing, full of deep shuddering breaths and long, silent pauses. Slowly, he began to calm down. His breathing evened out. With a twitch of his fingers, his crushing hold on her hands relented. His shoulders, while still drooping, no longer seemed like they were being sucked into a black hole in his chest. She waited patiently, satisfied by the gathering evidence that he was getting himself back under control.
Eventually Vash withdrew his hand from hers and rubbed at his face, drying his eyes roughly.
“Are you okay?” Meryl searched his face as she asked. From what she could see, his eyes were a little unfocused, and a bit red in the aftermath, but he was meeting her gaze again.
“Yes.” He replied quietly. After a moment’s pause, his lips twitched in a small smile. It was a fleeting thing. Meryl was inclined to believe it, since his fake smiles were stupidly big and stayed far longer than was believable. She hoped it meant he wasn’t going to have hard feelings about all of this later.
“Do you want to go wash your face, and then we can try this again? Have you eat a little something tonight?”
He nodded and stood, imposingly tall in the center of the room as he loomed over her. Turning away, he slipped out of his red coat, carefully folding it into a neat square before unstrapping his holster and setting his gun on top. She’d seen him without his coat before, of course, but it continued to surprise her just how much space he actually took up. It always seemed like the coat was responsible for a lot of his bulk. It was probably just that she was seated and the room was small.
He let himself into the motel bathroom and shut the door with a soft click. The squeak and hiss of the tap being opened followed moments later. She pulled one of the shabby chairs over to the little motel table and pulled out the burger, happy to arrange it nicely for him so his dinner would be as pleasant as possible given the dimly lit, dingy surroundings.
When Vash let himself back into the room, still patting his prosthetic absently against his shirt, he seemed more resolute, more purposeful. He joined her at the table, slouching over the sandwich. He closed his eyes as his stomach squealed softly, no doubt in anticipation of the meal it had nearly been denied. Meryl allowed herself a small smile.
It would be weird to watch him eat in silence and she hated when someone asked her questions while her own mouth was full, so she leaned back, letting her eyes roam over the room absently. Still, trying hard as she was not to stare, she couldn’t help but notice that he was eating… weird. He was moving mechanically, almost forced, as if he wasn’t actually paying attention to the food and was just pushing through it at a set pace. His eyes were shut just a hair tighter than seemed right. Was it… painful?
“Does your jaw always click like that?” As if conspiring to prevent him from denying it, his jaw crackled in a series of pops as he took another bite.
“Yeah. One too many fists to the face.” He replied nonchalantly, giving her a small shrug.
“Is that why you don’t chew your food? Does it bother you?”
“Mmm. No?” He looked at her quizzically, head bobbing a little as he almost immediately swallowed the bite without chewing further. She couldn’t tell if he was playing dumb to mess with her or to avoid further discussion. Or he really might be that oblivious. Well, as long as he was eating she supposed it didn’t really matter how. She just wished he looked like he was enjoying it a little more. She found something else to stare at, occupied by memories of another night years ago spent sitting across from a different friend.
Eventually, her attention was drawn back to the present by the crinkling of paper. Vash had put down the burger and was ineffectively trying to wrap it closed.
“That’s all? That was only half,” she asked, wondering what she’d missed as she’d been lost in memories. He nodded silently, eyes downcast and avoiding her again. If he’d looked stunned before, and then heartbroken for some reason, now he just looked miserable. But why? They’d gotten through the hard part already. Why did it seem like everything was turning out the opposite of what she’d intended?
“Maybe you can finish the rest later then,” she said softly, wrapping the leftovers more securely than he’d achieved on his own.
She wanted to grab his face in his hands and force him to understand that she was helping him. Why wouldn’t he accept it? He looked up at her, electric blue peeking through his long, dark lashes. Words tumbled out of her mouth without thinking.
“I had a roommate in university. She was really nice, studying hydrology actually. She had trouble eating after a while. It took me a long while to notice, you know? I felt really bad that I missed the signs. Still do. I’m not sure what I would have done if I had noticed. I might not have been able to help her much, I was so young myself.”
Meryl thought back to the night the girl’s family had arrived to pack her things, so sad and yet so grateful that Meryl had been kind, had been a friend for their daughter. She remembered the swirl of confusing emotions; worried, hurt that her roommate hadn’t found Meryl safe enough to confide in, angry that her friend had done something like this behind everyone’s back, and deep down, terrified that she wouldn’t have known what to do anyway, that she would have accidentally made it worse somehow.
“I swore up and down that I wouldn’t miss signs like that again. But I did. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry it took so long to notice, again.”
She pulled her little crossbody bag over and slipped out the two photos that had been burning a hole in her mind since she tucked them away, arranging them in front of Vash.
“This was right after we met you, and this was from a few weeks ago,” she explained, pointing at one and then the other. “Just a few months apart. I didn’t realize how much you’ve thinned until I developed this new one last week.” The evidence was as damning as the clicking of his jaw.
Vash looked at the photos silently, and for the first time all night, Meryl was glad he had nothing to say. She would probably scream if he tried to deny or deflect any of it now.
“I’ve been watching you ever since, and you haven’t once eaten with us. You disappear on endless errands whenever it comes up. Even snacks. I saw you giving away your trail mix to those kids the day before.”
He sat passive, unmoving. Was this his new angle? To just become a rock?
“Vash, you have to eat.” She knew she was pleading. She didn’t care how she sounded, only that he listened.
“I have to go.”
Meryl barely had a moment to process what kind of nonsensical answer that was to her begging before he was gone. Up from the table, crossing the little motel room in a stride, and slamming back into the little bathroom with a crash. She had just finish processing the unexpected turn when she heard the first retch and wet heave, sending her into an entirely different kind of whiplash.
No, no that wasn’t right either. He’d eaten; she’d fixed it.
She darted in his wake, nearly tripping over him as she flew through the door to the bathroom. He was on his knees on the cracked tile, hunched over the (god did she hope it was clean) toilet bowl, holding on like it was the only thing keeping him on the ground with the force of the spasms.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. Somehow things had gotten worse, not better. She’d done what she was supposed to do, she’d fixed it this time, so why wasn’t it working? She had been right, of course she had been right, so why was this all so wrong now?
Vash was a big man, she knew that factually. Honestly, everyone was big compared to her. But she’d never realized just how wide he was until he was hunched over in the tiny bathroom, dwarfing the motel toilet. Until she put a hand out to rub his back, offering the only comfort she had left to give. It was the first time she’d touched him like this, touched him deliberately, more than just casual passing contact, or the poke of a fingertip. Her hand on his back looked incredibly small. It was laughable to think that that she, tiny as she was, would ever be able to fix something for him.
Something worried at the back of her mind as she rubbed his back, murmuring that he was okay, let it come, everything was okay. The broad, steady expanse of his shoulders was so permanent and reliable and strong under her hand, it didn’t make sense to her that something as ordinary as food, as eating would bring him so low. He just wasn’t fragile enough for something so simple to tear him down. The pieces of it, his physical reality, just didn’t square with the earlier tears or this sudden sensitivity. Why doesn’t it fit? What am I missing?
His heaves slowed, no longer bringing anything but screwed-shut eyes and the occasional straining lurch. Eventually, he reached to flush the mess away and dragged himself to the sink without her help, where he haphazardly splashed water on his face, grinding his prosthetic across his eyes before blindly stumbling his way out to collapse on his narrow motel bed. His movements were abrupt, rough. Where was the poised, gentle-to-a-fault Vash that she knew?
Why couldn’t he just be kind to himself?
That was the actual problem, wasn’t it. Avoiding meals, lying and deflecting and pretending nothing was wrong – he couldn’t let himself eat. He was… this was punishment somehow. For what, she hadn’t a clue.
She snagged a towel and followed him, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed next to where he lay curled on his side.
“Can I dry your face?”
His shoulders shifted faintly, which she interpreted as assent. Carefully, she patted the water droplets off his face. More so even than before when she was touching his back, this felt intimate. She could see the tiny wrinkles in the thinner skin around his eyes, evidence of some inner tension he was still carrying, still hiding away privately in his chest.
“I wish you would take better care of yourself. It’s hard to watch you treat yourself so harshly,” she said contemplatively, pushing the damp hair off his forehead into ridiculous spikes. Maybe this is what she should have started with all along.
“Can you tell me why? What’s keeping you from eating?”
“I don’t know.” His face tightened again, almost imperceptibly if Meryl hadn’t been so close. “Food just tastes like dirt right now, and makes me nauseous. It’ll pass eventually.” He sounded tired.
“It’s been weeks, Vash, and you’re getting worse. How long can you wait for this to pass?”
How long will you hurt yourself before you let me help?
“I’m sorry Meryl. You’re right. I’ll do better. Starting tomorrow.”
She snorted softly. She knew it was a lie. She might not have known what to do about it in university, and she might not really know what to do now, but at least this time she’d caught the signs. She was Meryl Stryfe, and no matter how long it took to figure it out, she wasn’t going to stop trying until she finally got it right.
“Of course. Get some rest now. We’ll figure something out in the morning.”