#(i liiive)

Wolfwood immediately goes to raid her tiny kitchen and she shouts general directions of where she keeps her long lasting snacks for the times she comes home after a work trip and shopping is too much of a chore, before slipping into her bedroom.

It, too, is tidy and Meryl vaguely recalls having an anxious urge to fix everything before she left, as if it would somehow fix the odds of her journey ahead, as if she could work the worry out of her by rearranging her writing supplies and corners of her bedspread. She had been angry at herself, for stalling, after years of looking. (After years of getting her hopes up and then ground to dust. After years of performing miracles to piece it together from nothing again.)

Milly peeks her head in, eyes round and curious, and Meryl waves her in. The realization that she’s barely had anyone over in this apartment and definitely not in her bedroom comes a second later, but she pushes it aside quickly. What is there to hide from Milly, who is the closest to a friend she’s had in years, what is there to hide from her or the boys when they’ve shared rooms (and beds) at inns, the cramped space of the van's backseat? (When she’s shared her pain and hopes, silly little dreams and bone-deep beliefs?)

“I should have a spare blanket and pillow here,” Meryl says, opening her wardrobe, while Milly starts to investigate - she hears the shuffling and various oohs and aahs. She guesses they might be about her full bookshelf or the few photos of her family she has up. There's not a lot more to admire about her living space.

After a bit of struggle, she emerges from the wardrobe with her bounty, just as Milly speaks up: “Oh, Miss! Is this your journal from back when you were traveling with Mr. Vash?”

Meryl glances at it and the neat pile of journals on her desk - she must’ve pulled them out to page through before her trip, maybe taken notes or contemplated bringing them with her, in case Vash - Eriks - needed proof of her words, if the rumors of his missing memory were true. Wait, why hadn’t she taken them-

“Milly, wait!” The blanket and pillows are tossed aside as she leaps toward her curious colleague.

It’s too late, of course it is, and she can see the open pages of her journal, edges adorned in heart-pattern lace doodles and Vash’s portrait in the center, in profile looking off into the distance and smiling softly. It’d not be half as damning if the other page wasn’t littered with more hearts, some of which she’d doodled their initials in, a stick figure doodle of Vash carrying her princess-style (mostly distinguishable by his coat and her hat) and some line stolen from a love poem.

She can feel her face heat completely within seconds.

"I can explain, I-"

"Oh, you've got a talent for drawing! That looks exactly like Mr. Vash!" Milly exclaims and it's definitely not what Meryl expected, but it's not exactly easing her mortification, either.

At the same time, Vash barrels into the room: "I heard yelling, is everything okay?"

She would feel touched by his concern, if her mind wasn't racing to find how to prevent what was going to happen in the next few seconds.

"Mr. Vash! Have you seen this? She's so good!"

Meryl lunges for the notebook in one last desperate attempt to save face, but Vash is faster and plucks it from Milly's hands, holding it above Meryl's head as he looks at the pages and starts flipping through the rest of it quickly.

(There really is something profoundly cursed about being of her stature among three giants. If she had even a couple inches more, they'd all see hell.)

To avoid looking even more foolish as she jumps after her journal, Meryl just grabs the blanket and pillow from where she had dropped them and shoves them in Milly's arms. The other woman beams at her, gives another compliment on her drawing skills and then leaves.

She still feels red in the face when she looks at Vash, who has lowered the notebook and is looking at her instead, head tilted to the side and eyes careful. “I didn’t mean to pry, I can give it back if you’re really uncomfortable,” he offers. 

“I just got caught up in the reminder you cared for me, even through the time on the Sandsteamer, through it all, really.”

It’s that admission that really makes her choice for her and Meryl shakes her head. Her embarrassment will be short lived compared to the comfort this might bring to him. 

“It’s okay, I don’t mind, really.” She emphasizes the last word, before Vash talks himself out of doing what he really wants to do. She moves to stand next to him and flips the notebook to the start, nudges him to continue, which he does. 

Meryl doesn’t hold the illusion that he’s the perfect man, but even so, it is easy to fall in love with Vash - in some ways, it had been even easier back then, when there had been fewer shadows haunting the depth of his bright eyes, when his earnest smiles were rare, but not a luxury like they had been after JuLai (she takes pride in the fact she can coax them out more frequently these days). When his heart did not yet bring a ghost of a city with him wherever he went. 

And it had started as a study of him, really - she would do rough sketches of his prosthetic, his gun, the Project Seeds patch or do an expression study all for purposes of her article as he wasn't always very forthcoming with information, but the more attention she paid to him and the little nuances, the more her heart lingered on them.

Her professional, concise notes of their days started to stretch out, pausing to describe the way he'd lit up eating a fresh doughnut or playing with the local children, the way he'd saved her (again, and he'd used his body to shield her), the silence that consumed him after a conflict. She'd spend the quiet hours of her watch by the fire, doodling out these scenes and trying to capture him, with growing awareness that he was much more like a logic puzzle where every next layer shifted the moment you touched the first.

But it had not yet been sharp and cutting enough to pierce the growing infatuation, where she started to picture his smiles all for her or how his hand would engulf hers, the way he'd rest his head against her shoulder as they watched the sunset and she'd get to hear the entirety of the melody he sometimes hummed when content.

It is not that she only wrote about Vash, only drew him (even considering that most other things she could openly take photos of), but there is no denying the increasingly romantic tint Vash's content takes, until it is nothing but girlish fantasies poured onto page with all the intensity of a first crush.

Because that's what he had been. Through her school years, even university, she had been too busy escaping into studies and books to fall for anyone. The few times she'd been asked out had been met with flustered rejection based on rationale. Too busy with this project, the finals are coming up - I wouldn’t have the time. They deserve better than that. (Better than her lack of interest in this stranger.)

The notebook's romance arc culminates by Ship Three, where the last drawing is a detailed rendition of the two of them holding hands as they rest beneath a tree in the artificial gardens. And in the corner, a rougher sketch of her pressing a kiss to Vash's cheek.

Meryl recalls that by then, she had imagined that once Millions Knives was dealt with (how, exactly, had been vague and largely unimportant in her fantasies), Vash would announce that he was a free man to follow his heart finally and sweep her off her feet. Or that she'd clear his name with articles in every newspaper and he'd dip her in a kiss on top of a December skyscraper just as the sun was setting. Either way, it'd be Vash and Meryl 💖 from there on out. 

Though the  memories come back as she watches Vash experience this journey through her notes, it all feels like a lifetime ago and in some ways, it is. That Meryl Stryfe had melted away in the heat and light which had razed JuLai. Maybe even before that - disintegrated under Roberto's bloody hands as he pressed the derringer in hers. Either way, she knows the death date to put on that headstone. It's a death date shared by many things.

That day has a drawing in her journal, too. It's crumpled with the force she had applied pencil to it, depicting the darkness through which Vash had plummeted through, like a falling star. The only wish she had had when watching it was please be safe please don't die please don't leave me please come back to me please live please-

Some of it is scribbled at the bottom of the page, the writing smudged and stained from splatters of tears.

Vash's fingers brush over the words and she clasps his hand, bringing it to her lips. "You did," she reminds him before he can start sinking in his guilt over causing her pain.

In one fluid motion, Vash pulls her in his embrace. She feels the spine of her journal press into her shoulder as he clings to them both like a lifeline and she wraps her arms around him, digs her fingers into his coat. 

"I kept you waiting for so long," he murmurs into her hair. And he had, he had kept her chasing across the world and years for him, and yet-

Meryl pulls away just enough to look into his face, his eyes that are clouded with the kind of bottomless sadness that she's always afraid will take him away from her one day. 

"I love you, I have you now and every day has been worth it."

She has to rise on her tiptoe and he has to meet her halfway, but Meryl wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him, with all the emotion she can muster. Her own and the ones from Meryl of the past.

That Meryl who drew those doodles would be so happy for her, though she could never imagine just how vast and deep her feelings would grow to be. How utterly world changing it would be to be loved by Vash in return.

His prosthetic holds her to him tightly, while his other hand comes to cradle her face, thumb brushing tenderly over the apple of her cheek. It's so easy to melt into his touch - and in the emotions that drip into her consciousness. It is almost like her skin has gained another sense, brushing against the ridges and grooves and even planes of Vash's feelings. It doesn't startle Meryl anymore, she welcomes the insight into his heart, no matter how lonely it might sometimes be.

Now, what she feels is an overwhelmed marvel that he is loved - has been loved for so long. Gratitude and sense of being undeserving. That holding her, having this tenderness and love is something he can have, that she believes he is allowed to. Even when she knows, even when she has seen so much. That something like him can inspire something as sweet and pure as the feelings she had poured on the pages, that something like him can have her in this moment even when clarity of what he is and what follows in his wake has long since descended upon them.

There is an ache in her chest and she can't tell if it is his or hers - maybe it is simply theirs. When they part just so, Vash's face is a little blurry to her and she could swear there's a shine to his eyes, too.

"I love you," she repeats, pressing soft little kisses to his mouth and cheeks. It's a victory in itself that in his heart of hearts, he believes those words now. The war to love some kindness and faith for himself into Vash is going to be a long one, so she will take every win. 

Vash captures her mouth in a sweet kiss and lifts her up, carefully setting her on the desk. She used to squeak every time he would shift her like this, as if she weighed nothing, but now she only clings to him tighter - not for fear he would drop her, but it's easier with the more evened out height difference. He settles between her legs, one hand coming to rest at her hip and the other tangling in her hair as he cradles her head, now that he's put the journal down next to them.

The slide of his lips against hers is familiar and still intoxicating, so much more than she could have ever imagined all those years ago. Vash moves to kiss soft  I love yous and thank yous into her skin, from the corner of her mouth over to her cheek, across the bridge of her nose and down her other cheek. It tickles lightly and she sputters a soft laugh, which he reflects, presses his forehead against hers. Meryl treads her fingers through his hair and holds him there, tries to keep pouring the sincerity and depth of her feelings through the waning connection to Vash's feelings. It never stays long, just while his heart is the most overwhelmed.

"Milly's going out to buy some food, y'all coming or at least got some requests or somethin'?" Meryl has to peer around Vash's arm to see Wolfwood as he pokes his head in the room in a fashion that implies he meant to leave a second later, but then his eyebrow quirks at the sight of them wrapped up in each other and he swaggers in, which promises nothing but trouble.

And even so, she gets so distracted by how Vash beams at the mention of food and spinning her favorite nearby places in her mind that she misses Nicholas coming in the danger zone - eyeline on the journals.

"Oh, is this what Milly was ravin' about?" He asks and makes a grab for it, too fast for her to stop, especially with her limited mobility still being held by Vash. Because of that, Wolfwood has danced away from the desk long before she manages to disentangle herself and get her feet on the ground. (Vash is helping none and she kicks his shin lightly on her way down for that.)

"Oy, Shortstacks, I knew ya had it bad fo' Spikey since the start, but I didn't know it was this bad."

"Give it back, that's private!" she demands, but to no avail. Her attempts to snag it from him have no success either.

"Says it's yer work journal," he wiggles it above her head as he flips through it. "Did ya show this to your superiors too? Did they commend the angle of the kissin' doodles? Hope they did, it ain't too shabby."

The thought alone heats her face another shade redder. It had actually been quite a bit of work, sifting through it all in the aftermath to create an objective narrative and depiction of events and Meryl had missed Roberto's insight sharply, though she would have never showed him what was actually in her original journal. (She suspects he had had a pretty good idea, nonetheless.)

Suddenly, Wolfwood stops and actually lowers the journal some, to look through it more efficiently.

"Hol' up a damn minute, where's my page?" he asks. "Ooh, did I get a notebook all for myself, hm? Princess, fess up."

"This is exactly why you didn't get one!" Meryl jumps and manages to get a hold of her notebook and despite all his teasing, Nicholas lets it go because he’d never want to rip her things in their back and forth. She hugs it tight to her chest and sizes him up, ready to continue the banter, but something in his expression quiets the urge.

She knows that shuttered look, the one where he withdraws for a while before leaving for a long smoke break. For all his cockiness, for all the ways he speaks as little as Vash about things that matter and she never has a chance to experience his feelings as she does with Vash, Meryl knows he has his fears and insecurities. Of not being good enough - for her, for Vash, for happiness. That they would close the space easily if he took a step back. There are nights when self-loathing envelopes him like smoke and she can barely find his hand to hold through it all.

So Meryl links her arm through his now and smiles up at him. "I got a lot of photos of you, I will show you the album later," she reassures.

It had been an investment, getting them developed, but even as she had paid the hefty sum, she hadn't regretted it one bit. Meryl had spent several nights filling up albums and rearranging them. Group photos, silly moments and earnest fireside conversations, landscapes both marred by battles and untouched by seemingly anything but the rising sun. Roberto, Wolfwood, Vash too, and even her when one of the men had snatched the camera away from her, putting their life in danger. In a way, it had helped her to come to terms with what had been and could never be again, like her own personal memorial thousands of iles away from the one they had put together for Roberto.

(Perhaps it had been then, that she had truly realized how her flight of fancy had gained weight and gravitas as Vash had plunged toward the ground, how much she had grown to rely on Nicholas and care for him in return, how empty the space beside her had been once they had separated for their search for the blond outlaw. How her heart was torn in two but both halves led in the same direction. 

She didn’t doodle Meryl Stampede or Meryl Wolfwood in her notebooks after, but she did do everything in her power to hold their hands again, this time with the intention of truly never letting go. And of making sure they knew why. 

She was done dreaming of fairytale endings, she was ready to live through the uncertain future, loving them still rough from loneliness and pain, until all three of them would tear out space big enough in this chaotic world for content, happy peace to settle in it.)

The tightness around his eyes doesn't go away, but it eases enough for him to give a half hearted grin. She lightly tosses the journal on the bed and brings her free hand to rest over his, squeezes it. "I got all your best angles, I promise. Most of the time, anyway."