Chapter Text
"Oh, darling!" the pitch of your voice is higher than initially intended. "Have you read the newspaper this morning? My wife is on the front page!"
You giggle as your comment is undoubtedly the source of the exasperated groan resounding from the mouth of said wife. “Babe.” the blue-haired woman whines, head nearly sprawled amongst the sheets of paper shrouding the table. “You’ve been making the same joke every time I’ve written the article on the cover page.”
“But that’s because I’m proud every time!” your face twists into a pout as your feet lead you back into the dining room, a copy of the said newspaper in one hand and a coffee mug in the other. “Now come on honey, remove your notes. I wouldn’t want you to leave a stain on them.”
Meryl grumbles at being admonished, yet still mutters soft words of appreciation when the mug slides over to a surprisingly unoccupied corner of the table. Her fingers reach for the handle in an involuntary fashion.
“Want another sugar?” you ask her as she takes a sip of the warm liquid, unsurprised when the woman silently declines by swaying her head to the sides.
You’ve been married to Meryl Stryfe for a little more than a year, after all. That’s a year of you brewing her coffee every morning, during which you had many opportunities to learn about the specifics of her life habits. Through observation, you figured out that two sugar seems to be her normal amount; but you’d also determined that on strenuous mornings, or whenever Meryl would wake up grumpier than usual, she would only ask for one sugar.
And today is a one-sugar morning, if that hadn’t been obvious enough just yet.
“So, what story are you working on this week?” you inquire, gaze never parting from your wife as you sit on the facing chair. “Wait, let me guess.” Your fingers seize the drink you had settled there earlier. “Is it the article on the Inepril mayor’s fraud again?”
“Ugh, don’t even get me started.” she laments, compelling a victorious puff of air to exit your nose. “Roberto’s been on my ass about this one for weeks.” her seething frustration seems to get the better of her and she allows her face to collapse onto the table once more, ruffling the sheets upon landing. “What a headache, honestly. I mean, if he doesn’t even want to travel there to cover it, why would I?”
You tilt your head, eyes brimming with compassion. “Wouldn’t Milly accept to go with you?” you suggest, observing incredulously as Meryl exhales sharply into her written notes, nearly causing the papers to fly.
“Took the week off.” the words are near intelligible when she mumbles them, her mouth almost brushing against the wooden table. “It’s her sister’s birthday, apparently.”
You can't help but scoff at the affirmation. "Which one?"
"Hell if I know."
And yet, you’re familiar with Meryl by now. In fact, you’ve learned to know her a considerable amount, being at her side for so long. Which is why you perceive that the issue doesn’t lie in her superior’s constant pestering, nor is it because of her best friend being on leave for a while. No, there’s something else bothering her, seemingly grinding the gears of her brain.
“Now, darling,” you smirk at her amusingly. “What about you tell me what’s really happening in that beautiful head of yours?”
Meryl’s face shifts in colour: a physical reaction that she’s been continuously unable to prevent even after a year of marriage (as well as the six months of courtship that preceded). Visibly embarrassed, she decides to lift the coffee mug amidst her lips to take a sip.
She sighs as the cup makes its way back onto the table. “Honestly, I’m really starting to believe that you can read my mind now.”
“No, just your face.” you retort as if this was a sound explanation. “Now come on, speak.”
The short woman groans, certainly understanding that she would never emerge victorious in such a battle. She is aware to hold no choice but to talk; or else, her pestering (but affectionate) wife would never abstain from bothering her on the matter.
“So,” she begins the explanation, still unsure of the words she should use to disclose her predicament. “Remember that criminal I told you about? Vash the Stampede?”
You nod in attempted remembrance. "The one you wrote your first piece about?"
"Precisely."
You acquiesced once more. After all, it was nearly inconceivable to be unfamiliar with the (in)famous Humanoid Typhoon. Responsible for some much damage and destruction, he was still wanted by both the Earth Federation and the numerous bounty hunters for an astounding bounty of 60 billion double dollars. And yet, a few times throughout your marriage, Meryl had offered you her own perspective on the man she’d followed for so long on behalf of the Bernardelli Insurance Society; her personal account of Vash the Stampede far differed from the legend of a heinous monster, as perpetuated by the masses.
Where everyone thought they knew him as this cruel, homicidal murderer, Meryl had time and time recounted to you the tales of a kindhearted yet clumsy man, who despite his reputation would never harm a single soul.
And you have always been inclined to believe your wife on that front. “So, what about this Vash guy?” you grin at her, investing no effort in concealing your amusement.
Meryl scoffs, as if she does not even trust in her thoughts. “Sources tell me he’s in December. Apparently.”
At that point, you can’t help yourself when you burst out laughing, head fully thrown back. Because not only are you thoroughly informed of Vash the Stampede’s reputation contrasting with Meryl’s opinion of him; but you are also aware that he was her first romantic crush, too.
“Stop laughing!” your wife admonishes you, her cheeks darkening even more.
“That’s why you’ve been grumpy all morning!” you instead retort, unable to erase the smirk at the corner of your lips even once the laughter ceases. “See, you told me you were over him, but now he’s back and your heart has already turned all mushy.”
Her eyebrows draw a frown over her mesmerizing (but frustrated) eyes. “Babe…”
Yet you don't heed her warning. "That's adorable."
"Babe!"
"What?" you chuckle again. "I just think it's cute, that's all!"
She clicks her tongue, clearly baffled by the conversation.
You’re unquestionably aware that you’re toying with fire right now: after all, Vash is still a sore subject to Meryl. Judging from the way she explained the situation in the past, she clearly feels betrayed by him. She recognized that it had taken a while for her to even grasp that she had feelings for him in the first place; and at that point, he had been way too consumed by his quest to even discern any of it.
Meryl knew that his journey had been for something as crucial as saving the world, and thus painfully realized that resenting him for such behaviour was childish. And yet, from the bitter words she often shouted about the man in that tiny apartment you shared, you know she had never really gotten over him.
But reality conveys that you love your wife with all of your tiny heart; which also means that you’re willing to carry out a lot of things for the sole objective of making sure she was happy.
"So," you grin at her, holding your mug between the palm of your hands. "I figure this means you're still in love with him."
You’re not planning on beating around the bush; honestly, this isn’t your style at all. But Meryl, who is much more diplomatic than you are from her experience as an insurance agent, never fails to be thoroughly taken aback every time you would blurt out such crude answers.
And today is no exception: you watch with entertainment as she nearly spits out the sip of coffee she’d been gulping.
“No.” her retort is instantaneous as soon as her body recovers from the shock; at least enough to utilize words. “I’m not.”
You pout at her, attempting to convey through every muscle in your face how unconvinced you are by her statement. “Don’t lie to me. I know you are.”
"And yet, now I'm married to a wonderful person who I love very much!" she protests vehemently. "So, whether I still feel something for him or not doesn't matter, because now I have you!"
At that moment, something flickers at the back of your mind. You know that you're bearing an idea that you probably shouldn't be nurturing, and yet you're spelling it out before you can process its implications.
"And what about sleeping with him?" you inquire, a smug expression coating your face. "If I told you that I'm okay with it, would you do it?"
Meryl is thoroughly bewildered by the mere mention of such a vulgar idea; and yet she's not inflexible, assessed by the way her face shifts to a crimson hue you weren't even aware could be observed over human skin.
"What the fuck." are the only words she can seemingly muster in her stupefaction.
"I'm serious!" your eyebrows are arched as you brace for her reluctance. "Who knows, maybe you'd finally get over him if you two would just…you know, wrestle it out in the bedr-"
"BABE!"
"Alright!" you raise your hands defensively. "Alright, I'll stop." though, that grin isn't withdrawing from your face anytime soon. "But I wasn't kidding about the offer. I wouldn't mind, really."
Meryl simply groans in response, gradually reclining onto the back of her chair. "I can't believe you'd suggest something like that. Especially since we don't even know if he's really in town in the first place."
It's true that the Humanoid Typhoon's mere presence in December remains up for debate so far; from the way Meryl had worded the matter, the criminal's appearance has been nothing but village gossip thus far.
Still, your wife leans her forehand into the palm of her hands. "I mean, I'm ready to admit I still hold… complicated feelings toward him. But to have sex with him…" she paused, noticeably hesitating. "Honestly, I don't even think he'd want something like that."
"But you said it yourself." your finger is raised as you protest. "He was always teasing you, wasn't he?"
"Yeah, but it wasn't suggestive or anything. He was just being an ass."
You lift an eyebrow. "An ass you coveted, though."
"Okay, I'm leaving." Meryl deadpans in response, pushing herself onto her feet.
"Oh, come on babe! Don't be like that!"
Your usual domestic morning soon comes to an end, despite being far more agitated than it usually is. It's not exactly like it bothers you, of course; you'd planted the seed of doubt in your wife's mind, surmising it would flourish in the coming hours and perhaps bloom into something auspicious in the coming days.
In the end, the only thing you truly crave is for Meryl to be happy; and you know that such a process implies that she will have to confront those entombed feelings sometime in the foreseeable future, if only to get over that irritating frustration she exhibits every time the wanted criminal is somehow involved in her life.
But now, you too are curious about the famous Vash the Stampede. He is an enigmatic character; that much is undeniable, especially to be able to leave such an outstanding impression on a woman as principled and stubborn as Meryl Stryfe.
Clasping the door shut behind your wife as she departs for work, you can't help but grin at the thought, hoping to meet the man sooner than later.