DISCLAIMER: Trigun and its characters belong to Yasuhiro Nightow.

Between Devil and Demon

Something was wrong with Vash.

Something had been wrong ever since he faced Monev the Gale. At first, it was hidden behind a mask of cheerfulness; but as he trekked through the desert shortly after the adventure concerning the geoplant by Promontory, the mask had faded.

Meryl Stryfe and Milly Thompson had done an admirable job of hanging in there, keeping pace and trying to engage him. The mask was gone, however, and Meryl found herself worried by this laconic Vash whose blank expression was betrayed by a look in his eyes that made her want to cry.

Worried enough that she had fallen back, taking Milly with her. He walked alone with whatever pain he was carrying, leaving the two ladies to follow and fret in his wake.

"Mr. Vash seems awfully upset over the fight with that Monev the Windstorm person," Milly stated at one point, concern in her eyes.

"Monev the Gale," Meryl corrected absentmindedly, lost in her own worries and reflections. "But there's no reason for him to be. He's never killed before, and he didn't this time. If we knew what was bothering him…"

They did not. Whatever was wrong, he kept it to himself, marching on like a stoic soldier heading to yet another battle, while seemingly fighting one in himself. And so Meryl and Milly could do nothing for the time being but follow.

Meters became kilometers. Days passed. Vash didn't say a word.

"What do you think is wrong, Meryl?" Milly asked one night. They were on their bedrolls, having eaten a cold dinner without a fire. Vash was several hundred meters away. Even at night, they were giving him his space. Meryl feared that, even if they were right next to him, he would still feel a thousand iles away.

"I don't know, Milly. Maybe he doesn't, either."

"I bet Mr. Wolfwood would be able to get him to open up."

"Maybe he would. But maybe not. They're as different as they are alike."

"True," Milly conceded. "Mr. Wolfwood's darker."

"Yes, he –"

"Do you suppose Mr. Vash is lighter because the coat keeps the sun off him more?"

The sound of Meryl's palm hitting her forehead carried through the desert night. "That's not really what I meant, Milly. There are things that bother Vash that I don't think bother Mr. Wolfwood. Or if they do, not as much. He might not be able to understand what Vash is going through right now, any more than we do. Anyway, he's not here, so it's no use wishing he was. Let's get some sleep."

"Ok." Not needing any more prodding than that, Milly yawned and closed her eyes.

Meryl was awake longer, thinking about Vash.

His recent behavior was unlike him. Usually when he was not happy, he at least faked it, wearing a smile that did not reach his eyes.

She realized she had come to be able to tell the difference between the fake smile and the real one, the one that did show in his eyes. Realized she preferred the latter. When had that happened?

Thought back to the night after Monev's attack. When she had seen why Vash always wore a coat. She was unable to forget the look in his eyes. Wanted to make that look go away and never come back. No man should ever feel ashamed or embarrassed because he had paid the butcher's bill so others wouldn't have to.

When Vash confessed that he was afraid women wouldn't like what they saw, Meryl had been unable to stop herself from blurting, "I wouldn't run away." Corrected herself quickly, but had recognized the truth for herself. If other women were too stupid to realize the scars and metal were badges of honor, that was their problem. She would not run away from a man whose own body was a testament to his true character.

Something was wrong with Vash. Whatever it was, Meryl wouldn't run.